The More Human Perspective
by N3mesis
Summary: We hear a lot about things that have happened to the Exile, but few of them discussed by the characters in the game. This is how I imagined the Exile's handling of KOTOR2 and the true interactions she'd have with everyone around her, especially Atton. Very character/dialogue driven.
1. Chapter 1

"Oh man." I said, sitting up abruptly from my seat. I looked around. There was no one in sight. I could have expected it to happen. I could have expected to have a dream that was too vivid, too true, too accurate for me not to deny that it could, in fact, be happening. Solitude was how my first dream had started as well. It ended in horrible pain, that dream, and I supposed that was why I had shot up from the pillow, sweaty and cold and shaking like I always did. I would not let the reality end like the dream. I had told myself this several times when I had received these visions, but it did nothing to help or hinder my chances of ever changing them.

I just didn't want pain. And that was that. I was so tired of feeling it in my everywhere that I felt almost entitled to this right to fight and to change the pain that had resulted from that nightmare from which I came.

I didn't bother to clothe myself, as my thin shirt and shorts covered me well enough, and I ran around to the main deck. There was no one on the main deck either, but I heard noise down the hall to my left to suggest why.

"May-day, may-day; abort! ABORT!" I heard the man sigh angrily. "Someone get the General—ABORT! ABORT! STAND DOWN! I repeat—STAND DOWN! Civilians on board-!" There was a deafening crash and shake, flinging me from one side of the hull to the next. My head slammed into the metal with blinding force, force that probably would have killed a normal human. How I wished, oh sweetly how I wished it had killed me. "All systems offline! Escape pods have been jettisoned!"

I sighed as the crash happened again, surprising even myself with the lack of urgency I felt with the apparent direness of the situation my vessel seemed to be in. I found I did not care because I had no choice but not to. I would end in pain by the day's end. I knew what would happen, if vaguely, and I knew I would know it as it happened, not before, not after.

After a long, long moment, I decided that I should investigate if for nothing else to save the crew I had picked up. They were nothing to me really, but death was death, and it was not something I could as easily abide to. I had been a guardian of such people, after all. In an older time and life, but in the life that was mine all the same.

"What's going on?" I asked, yawning.

The man turned around. Ramel Sandres was losing his cool. "General—there's a large vessel heavy in pursuit-,"

I felt another crash, but this time, I was ready. I clutched the seat hard to steady myself and took a deep breath of pleasure at the ease of it. A woman behind me fell into me and I caught her as I balanced, surprising everyone in the cockpit.

The man glanced at her as she sat after this, apparently quite shaken, in the seat beside him. "What's the ship ID?" She waited only a moment. A moment longer than I could have. "Elna!"

"The Ravager." She said, as if we should know it.

I sighed angrily. "Elna—more. We need more than that!"

"It's a Sith cruiser." She blinked and laughed a little, holding the results up to me as I snatched them feverishly from her hands. As I did it, I saw scars on my hands that were from these Sith, from these pirates, from these scoundrels. Understanding came with the premonition as I realized that I wouldn't just be facing pain, but excruciating, tortured pain at that. I would be tortured inside of that Sith warship that day…More urgency filled me at the knowledge of this, but I couldn't help but feel strangely relaxed. I could not fight the inevitable—even if I wanted to.

"This can't be right." I said, hard. "Elna—run a cross check…"

"I did." She sat back, throwing her arms up. She laughed a little again. "Twice." She looked up at me. "You're a Jedi, aren't you?"

"Uh—yeah, yeah, I guess."

Elna shook her head and looked at Ramel. He didn't have time to look at her or see the fury on her face; he was too busy piloting. I had the sense that, though I didn't know it, we were moving very fast.

"I told you." She said. She looked back at me. "We are all going to die."

There was another crash as Ramel fumbled to control the ship. I knew he was beginning to panic just as I knew I had to lead him.

"Ramel—you're doing good, kid. Stay calm." I looked over at Elna. She opened her mouth to interrupt, but I felt an increasing harshness in me dislike her. "No—no! Shut up!" I pointed a finger at her. "Go to the main hold and activate the T3-M4!"

"He's a mech droid—there's nothing he can-!"

"Just do it, Mako!"

Elna waited a moment before shuffling past me, struggling to make her way from place to place at the increase of the booms that resonated throughout the chambers.

"What's the droid going to do?"

"Fix it when we're dead." I said simply.

"But…but shouldn't we _not_ be dead, General?"

I walked over to the Galaxy Map. "Yes, that would be nice, wouldn't it?" Ramel laughed. I took it as encouragement.

"You can't…access that." He said, grunting as he tried to dodge a cannon. "It's…uh—locked."

"It's okay." I said softly. "I told you I'd get you into the ship, didn't I? Why would I have done that if I couldn't get into the Galaxy Map?"

"I don't know, but I'm beginning to think we were safer back with the Republic! Who is it that's chasing us?"

"How should I know?" I lied quickly, feeling my pulse quicken. I turned back to the Galaxy Map, staring into the blurred figures that were obscured by the security. "Lohelo'il Ki'ili."

The computer beeped for a moment, whirred to life, and welcomed me with open arms.

"What the...?" Ramel asked in amazement. "How did you-?"

"A close friend and a closer enemy, I'm afraid."

"Is that a name?"

"It was."

"Whose?"

"Doesn't really matter now, does it?"

The sadness inside of me pinched and squirmed like an animal in a cage. But I couldn't unleash it. Not to him. Not to anyone. Such was my path, however difficult it became.

"No really—we couldn't. We've tried everything! We looked up this ship's coordinates and-,"

"You'd know him, but I doubt you'd ever believe me." I smiled at the Map. It was a bad smile, one that hurt my face with sad memories and angry ones. Bitter ones. Horrible memories that I wanted with all my body and soul to forget. The smile stayed, like the memories, and I understood, like always, that they weren't going anywhere, so I forced myself to continue.

"Revan's name," I whispered. "Before the war."

There was a silence and then a sigh.

"Whatever you say, General."

"I told you not to call me that, anymore," I said, suddenly stern. "And I asked you to get me off that Republic cruiser without any questions. Can you do that or not?"

"Yes, General, I -,"

"Not General!" I said louder.

"Sorry..." he said back with a hint of that old attitude I'd once admired. "Old habits, I guess. I mean, I haven't seen you since the war and then after all that we just get a mysterious hail with you asleep halfway into Wild Space with a ship nobody knows anything about! Then, we pick you up and it just _happens_ to be you, of all people, and you won't answer a damn question!"

"The Republic knows it," I said back automatically. "Or...they should. It's the Ebon Hawk."

Ramel's face paled.

"This is the Ebon Hawk?" he asked weakly. He turned to face me. "Why did you bring us here, General? Why did we leave the safety of our own ship just to...I have a family! I don't want to die!"

There was a bang, a crash, and my head made contact with the metal on the ground. I sat up, hearing the voices of countless thousands. They screamed at me to be better, those voices, screamed at me to shrug off mind-numbing pain. So I did as I was told. I stood.

"General!" Elna said from behind me. "General—you're bleeding!"

"Is the droid activated?!"

"You need medical-,"

"I asked if it was activated, Mako!"

As a reply, a hum, little more than a whir, whizzed by me and into the portal by my head. I sighed as I saw the little capable thing, as I saw the thing that had saved my life and the lives of my friends countless times.

"T3! Run a general diagnostic-,"

It beeped at me.

"What do you mean there are no people on board?" I looked to the other two. "We're being hunted by a ghost ship!" I thought hard. "Then where can we land?"

"Who are you talking to-?"

There was another deafening crash and I slammed my back this time. My arms and legs desperately wanted to stay down, but the voices erupted again. The countless voices. So many voices…

I pushed myself up shakily, certain that I was suffering internal bleeding.

"Captain!" I yelled blindly, looking over at Ramel. He was slumped in his chair, forward on the control panel. Elna was beside me, unconscious. There was nothing I could do. The first hinting of panic pulsed through me at the prospect of my capture. The absolute fear was astounding. I hadn't believed that I could have remembered what they had done, as I had used the Force to cut it off like a worm, to forget. I remembered all right. And the voices remembered too.

"T3—set course for the nearest system! We need a jump there _now_!"

He beeped in response.

The third crash was worst, sending me sprawling down the hallway from the cockpit to the main hold. I slammed my entire body against a corner of the reactor and my head against the wall nearest that. Pain unlike any I had experienced in a long time stilled me. I crawled hard, hearing nothing but the voices and the shouts, and a deafening and strangely distant ring. It was the last time I would ever hear that frequency, but I was glad. It made me feel like throwing up. I told myself that what I was experiencing was nothing.

"Now!" I screamed. I heard myself weeping. It sounded like it came from another's mouth. "NOW, NOW! GO—PLEASE GO-!" Another crash. My head slammed against the wall.

My pain was nothing compared to their pain. I did not feel pain. Pain was not mine. I only carried it. But it was not mine.

A final crash…and the voices grew intangible, so real and so untouchable that I began to cry to make them stop. They were shouting for me to get up and to stay down. They were shouting just to shout. The noise made me sick.

There was a jump. I was unhooked to anything and was flown into the far wall. I ignored the voices, as a self-preservation tactic, and I blacked out.


	2. Chapter 2

Pain was nothing new to me. Pain was frustrating and persistent, but it wasn't nearly as stubborn as I could be. I felt pain in many ways…sometimes, when I couldn't sleep for the screams in my head, I ran. When I ran, it hurt because I never let myself breathe. Sometimes, when I remembered what I had been through in that one room, in that one prison, I remembered the pain in my hands and body. I ached with pain at the remembering. Sometimes, what was worse, I felt pain at the fear that I held, fear for a time that was passed. The fear was my form of shame, my form of self-disgust and loathing. It was my only constant, something I held almost dear to my heart at how reliable it was, but that didn't stop it from hurting any less.

So, as I felt deep, sucking, excruciating pain all around me, not in a way that I could describe, I began to suffer. It was an incorporeal feeling, not one I could describe or would ever be able to describe with accuracy, but it was a feeling I knew all too well all the same. It brought me fear at the knowledge of how I was feeling it, how closely it was linked to my soul and how far it seemed to travel from. It almost hurt for me to feel it, and I felt sore all over for it.

This soreness woke me up, in fact, to the harsh reality that I was no longer breathing. With a moment's hope and thrill and ecstasy of all forms, I decided that my day had come long before it was due. But after another moment of discomfort and another, and yet another, I knew that I was still among the living. I felt strange disappointment.

It took only a moment for my involuntary senses to kick in, for them to establish that they needed to breathe to function. I began to heave a few times, trying hard _not_ to suck in the thick substance around me. It was difficult, but it got progressively less difficult as I began to realize that I was breathing. Despite this, the pain did not cease and a deep, harsher reality of pain took up my nerves from their resting place.

I felt something cold and strong lift me from whatever I was sitting in and drop me to a surprisingly soft surface on the ground.

And then, for the first time in a long, long time, I knew I woke up.

I tried to push my body from the ground, but my body fell back numerous times, almost as if it were attracted to the ground. After the seventh try, I dragged my legs around to be in front of me and sat, numbly. My hands and arms hung loose by my side as my vision slowly began to click into place. I was somewhere silver, somewhere safe, and somewhere very, very cold. I looked down at my own skin and, for all its intriguing scars and seductive curves, I was embarrassed to see that I was completely naked but for a thin covering on both my top and bottom. My stomach was exposed, and, therefore, I felt exposed.

I sighed, hearing myself sigh and registering that I could hear. It echoed slightly and the voices and the pain that had surrounded me earlier had ceased—entirely. The absence of that noise startled me. It felt so quiet around me. So dark and quiet. It made me afraid.

I lifted myself up finally and walked over to a locker. There were more coverings there, though nothing much to be said of an outfit. I searched myself and the room and my feelings for anything more—any prospect of a fellow human. There was none. So I pulled on the tight clothes, the underwear, and I began to slide weakly along the wall.

I stumbled and fell.

:Get up: A threatening voice told me.

I got up. And I looked around. There was no one. Terror filled me at the prospect of what hearing voices meant. I didn't want to hear voices again. That was the part I hid from. The part I fled for five years…Five long, haunting, sleepless years.

"I don't want this." I whispered softly. I waited for the voice to respond. Panic made me strong, made me walk forward and out the door. It made me stumble through to a room, a medical room, that made me realize that I was in some sort of medical facility.

I felt sore as I realized this and jogged lightly over to a canister. There was a medpac in it, one I immediately bit off and shoved into my leg. Exhilaration and pleasure filled me as I received the knowledge that I would soon be strong enough to fight, if I needed to. I knew the doctors would try to contain me. That was always how it was. I had been in the same situation thirty seven times. Well, thirty eight…I never agreed to stay in one spot. How could I? Not with those things after me.

I walked over to the computer and turned on the logs.

A woman appeared, speaking about a one survivor, me, of course, and about my ship. The Ebon Hawk. I nodded. Whoever the woman was, wherever we were, they knew about it. That part was a relief. I hoped they'd be less prone to attack me if they at least knew the ship. The next part confused me.

"Aside from the lone survivor we recovered an old woman—no life signs..."

The transmission faded out abruptly, as if there were a power surge. I felt a pinch in my heart and tears come to my eyes with guilt and loss. Elna and Ramel had gone out of their way to die for me, again, only this time I could not help them cheat death.

I'd done it one too many times, I guess. Help people cheat death. Ramel, I knew he'd volunteered, but Elna...he'd dragged her into it. Coaxed her along. He couldn't do it alone, after all, and she didn't know me. Nobody did, he'd surely said. He'd obviously concealed the fact from her that I was a Jedi. To her, I was just some nobody with a ship no one knew. They could just as easily sneak me out of that sticky mess and get recovered in no time.

Only they hadn't recovered. Ramel and Elna were dead, and that - like all the rest - was solely on me.

I listened for more as the woman's mouth moved without noise, only to regret it with all my heart. "Could be a Jedi…but we won't know for sure until we get the transmission back from the Republic-,"

I shut off the terminal, in another panic, a panic that felt much realer to me. The Republic had tracked me. But that didn't make sense. I furrowed my brow, hoping to wish away the truth. Ramel, Elna, and I had left the nice, safe, warm Republic warship to go get lost in space somewhere until we got lost. Then, they'd drop me off and return to their ship.

The Sith couldn't know of me unless the Republic had spoken of me through an insecure channel. I cursed the fact, wishing I'd been woken up sooner to prevent this. That meant I'd been out of it long enough for the Republic ship to find out who I was and broadcast it. And if they knew, the Sith sure as hell were going to find out.

Or they had already. We'd been shot down by the Ravager. The Sith ghost ship that chilled my bones.

My steps took me from that room and into the room across…It was the morgue, I saw. Some bodies looked sliced open and left, almost as if the doctor had cut the people open and fled…I saw a woman at the end, one who had not been operated on. It looked almost as if she were being avoided altogether. The next occupied bed was three beds over and the closest tools were on the other side of the room. I supposed, without really knowing how, that this was the woman of which the transmission had told me.

I sighed, looking away from her and deciding to avoid her myself, and I began to rummage through the corpse of the man closest me. It was the quickest way to clothing, by the way I saw it, and I probably would have acquired clothes too if it hadn't been for the voice, that same voice from before.

"Find what you're looking for amongst the dead?"

I turned to see the woman, the dead woman at the end, breathing and quite alive. She was hooded, hooded entirely, and I found it difficult to assume if I could trust her or not as I could not see her face. I found it strange to be talking to her, to a dead person, and I considered the notion that I was probably still asleep…But the pain I felt was much too real for me to think much into it.

"Who are you?" I asked confrontationally. I was in no mood to make friends. I didn't make friends. I had let myself…It was just so easy to make friends. Not making friends was hard, usually. But right then, as I stared at her pale, deathly pale, skin, I decided I was not in the mood to be friends with her sort. She emanated danger and made me feel…cold. An icy feeling pushed at my lower back where I could sense a presence larger than her own begin to envelop me.

"I am Kreia, and I am your rescuer. As you were mine. Tell me—do you recall what happened?"

I decided to lie. "Last thing I remember…" I pretended to look strained. "I was on board a Republic ship—the Harbinger—What happened to it?"

"Your ship was attacked. You were the only survivor. A result of your Jedi training, no doubt."

I bit my tongue to hold it in my mouth. Fear of every kind made me tense and anxiety began to take away my breath. Though I had just woken, I felt exhausted from the spikes of intense emotions…

"I'm not-,"

"Your stance, your _walk_ tells me that you are a Jedi. Your walk is heavy…" She smiled knowingly. I didn't like it. It made me cry a little, inside. With her words, there was no end to fear. "You carry something that weighs you down..."

"Listen—lady, uh, Kreia." I swallowed, hard. "Why don't we deal with the now, okay? Why is everyone gone? Where are we?"

She smiled knowingly. The mere presence of it annoyed me. "I do not know. I was removed from the events of the world as I slept. A survey of our surroundings may provide the answers from which you seek truth…The ship we arrived in must still be in this place. We should return to it and leave—at once."

Foreboding filled me. "Why are we in a hurry?"

"We were attacked once, and I fear our trackers will not give up the hunt so easily." She grimaced. "A Jedi of your stature should know this."

"I'm not-,"

"Go. Leave me. You must find the one beyond these walls."

And, as I meandered forward, not side to side, I began to discover a horrifying and uncomfortable truth: we, she, me, and this mystery third, were all alone. As I stumbled and fell through hallways and doors, I found droids that attacked on sight. Walls were painted with the blood of what had obviously been personnel.

_What the hell happened here?_ I thought to myself wearily.

Something had happened. Something was terribly wrong. And, I was sure, that this something had almost certainly everything to do with me.


	3. Chapter 3

:Ah…you feel it…: Her voice was knowing, irritatingly knowing. I had spoken nothing to her about me, not at all, and she already knew things no one had figured out in five long years. :Embrace this feeling—the force, my child…It is the force flowing through you again.:

"I don't want this." I muttered to her again. I knew she heard me, though I had left her a good two hours ago.

:Ah…Beyond this door someone yet lives…Be mindful.:

I gripped my gun and glanced at myself, facing this locked metal door. I had no shoes, no shirt, and a pair of climbing shorts that were too big for my taste. They hung past my knees just barely and were loose around my hips. The underclothing that covered my breasts was large enough to be a shirt to sleep in, but I would never be seen out in public that way.

I just wasn't raised that way. In fact, I hadn't been raised to reveal skin at all. Jedi dressed in plain clothes. In my life even before the Jedi, modesty was key. Modesty did not imply a reservation with revealing skin, nor did it suggest that I was unfamiliar with the implications clothing could convey. The actions that usually resulted from a certain type of dress, particularly in women, was not lost to me.

Even before my long time of solace, I had time to learn and watch. I was good at it, being in the background and seeing, not being the center of attention. It had served me well in the war full of men. Boys and their _urges_. Soldiers were…_open_ like that, even if most of them shot upwards into a respectful, sometimes fearful attention as I passed – or shushed one another because I was a girl.

But, no, it was my time after the war that I'd discovered what it meant to hide, to blend, to _watch_. I'd learned more in the years of my wandering – facts all that weighed on my heart – in all the time of my time spent in my happy, even joyous, upbringing on Dantooine. Even the war had not showed me what my time alone had showed me. In my exile, I had learned what it meant to be a part of a demographic of wandering, hopeless, joyless souls that searched for purpose and hungered for longing and lusted for a pair of arms that would embrace me in hopes it would provide all the answers I needed.

Even then, I experienced it as an outsider. I always had been. I watched with the cold anthropological keenness of a scientist on an expedition. The galaxy, its sluts, its drunks, its gamblers, its heroes, its villains, they all meant nothing to me.

And, even so, I was tied to them just as they were to me, and that was what it was that led me to that place and that time in a dark and strangely windy metal passage on a backwater mining facility in the middle of nowhere, unclothed, unprotected, unprepared, vulnerable, and weak.

_Exhausted_.

I looked down at myself again. The garb wasn't so terrible, I convinced myself after a minute. I had needed to wear worse in what I called the Dark Systems: Nar Shadaa, Nal Hutta, the lower levels on Coruscant, Taris. My time there was as dark as space, as vacuous and meaningless as tooth pulling, but more of the pain. It had been simple desperation then. Like a stagnant worm, I had squirmed and slithered until somebody would yank me up and rip me in half before dumping me to repair myself again.

Yes, those were the Dark Times. Nar Shadaa, the Dark Planet. The clothes I'd had to wear just to blend in sometimes made me red with humiliation and anger.

But, I reminded myself to jostle my mind to the present, now was not then. Now was now. And now required immediate attention, clothing or not.

Forlornly, but resignedly, I tugged at the shirt on my body. Given the option, I guess, half-dressed was better than _not_ dressed.

"I _hate_ finding clothes," I grumbled, turning to pace with nerves I didn't quite understand.

No, I did understand them. I made a point not to meet new people of any kind. It was sort of a habit of mine. Better. Safer. And, if I had to, I certainly wouldn't have chosen to meet them with the garb I had on.

I liked _my _clothes. I didn't like unfamiliar clothes. They never fit me. My body shape was strange, rounded but small, and no one designed clothes to fit curves like mine for women my height. It was not with arrogance that this thought struck me but disdain.

Beauty was a curse, a malign tumor. It was as much a worm as the evil that stemmed out of Nar Shadaa. It could not be hidden, and it was always exposed. It was a heart on my sleeve that I could not hide. People used it to warm me to them, to manipulate me, to use me, to lure me in. People saw me as a body, as flesh, as bones and a heartbeat.

Like an animal.

Because of it, being called beautiful made me feel vile. What use was it?

I felt cold and exposed, thinking this, wearily acknowledging again that I was beautiful and hating it.

I did not want to meet a new aggressor, and I knew my self-reflection was a stalling mechanism.

:Interesting…:

She trailed off to make me ask. I rolled my eyes at her cryptic voice.

"What is it?" I asked aloud, feeling crowded within myself.

I felt chills as I realized not one person but two could occupy my head. It hadn't bothered me before. That was long, long before. That was in a time where I was drilled tirelessly on meditation, telepathy, controlling my fears and weaknesses and emotion…Long before. I had been drilled for countless hours to control my resistance, to hound my relentless, passionless abilities. I was like a loose cannon compared to what I once was. I wondered what the old me would have thought about my new wardrobe, wandering around a deserted mining facility, half naked, searching in vain for anybody to help me.

The thought of outside help brought tears to my eyes, as it always did. Drowning was like that. The surface made it harder to breathe, especially when you were right below it all the time.

:His thoughts are difficult to read…: The old woman in my head seemed to think. :You have nothing to fear from this one.:

"That's easy for you to say a good two hours behind me." I whispered. I knew she heard me.

But she said nothing.

I sighed heavily, more heavy that I would have liked to sigh, and I opened the door.

I heard a drawl, a sarcastic, strangely charming voice that made me red all over and chilled with anger all at the same time. "Nice outfit—what, you miners change regulation uniforms while I was gone?"

My anger was the larger part, taking the place of my fear. I knew fear was anger and anger could be turned into power—or positive reinforcement, as the Jedi claimed. I felt another pulse that I didn't want as I stared at him. He was in a security field. He was incarcerated. I wondered what for.

As I approached I noticed how strangely beautiful he was, though it was not obvious at first. From afar, he looked smelly and sweaty—even a little starving, like he hadn't been fed for a long while. His shirts were all untucked and his vest lay open to expose a surprisingly strong and lightly hairy chest. But up close…he held himself—differently. Like he wanted to help. It was difficult to explain. But the way his hair fell into his face naturally, the way he didn't bother to brush it out due to eagerness in the present, the way his eyes—wouldn't meet my own.

They lapped up my body like I was a drink of water to a man in the desert.

Anger took me over again.

"Keep your eyes up and tell me who you are!" I said loudly.

_Was that _my_ voice?_ I found myself wondering. My accent from my childhood stained it a little.

He didn't comply with the first part of my demands.

"Atton…Atton Rand." He shrugged, as if he didn't have a care in the world. In reality, he looked cold and tired and hungry, but I doubted he would have admitted it if I asked to help him. He continued, "Excuse me if I don't shake hands. The field only causes _minor_ electrical burns."

I said nothing. He looked surprised, maybe a little perturbed, at my motionlessness. I looked around, walked past him to a computer, and asked, "Well…Mr. Rand…" I turned back to him. "Why don't you tell me why you're locked up?"

"It says-,"

"Why don't _you_ tell me why, Mr. Rand?" I smiled sweetly. He complied, staring almost aggressively at the skin I wished was covered from his prying, and offensively crass, gaze.

"Security claimed I violated some trumped up regulation or another, take it up with them if you want. But they stopped listening to me shortly before they stopped feeding me. Now _that's_ criminal."

"Ironic hearing it from the incarcerated, Mr. Rand." I walked back over to him, feeling the gun on my hip very, very heavily. Something about him made me want to hurt him, I just wasn't quite sure what it was.

"What happened here?" I asked coldly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, still unable to meet my eyes. I crossed my arms, embarrassed, and I sighed.

"The place is deserted. What happened?"

"You mean before or _after_ that Jedi showed up? Either way, it's a real short story…You see, this Jedi shows up, and you know that that means—where there's one Jedi, the Republic will soon be crawling up your ion engine in no time."

He told me the story.

I exchanged meaningless words with "Atton" feeling myself cringe more and more. I wasn't used to talking to people, especially without revealing that the person he seemed to distrust most was the Jedi and therefore was me.

I felt exhausted after only a few minutes of his banter because I knew I was obligated to respond with equally witty remarks. It was a game people like him played, and if you failed, they'd leave you behind. And I badly needed help.

Something about it felt like he was the last person on the planet, and that was good enough for me. Like a wit's end. I'd had it with running.

But it had been years since I had talked to _anyone _for that long, so this task was incredibly trying. My head also pounded from the crash and I knew a large gash there that was beginning to heal over gave my whole face a battle-worn, weary look.

:Listen to his words…"

"Shut up!" I snapped.

He stopped talking suddenly.

"Gee-,"

"No, not—I'm sorry, I…" I ceased talking. That had been a mistake. I was a fool. I was a damned fool. "I didn't mean it to—I'm sorry." I turned back to the computer, feeling overwhelmed. "I'll just-,"

"Hey, wait a minute—you're that Jedi the miners were talking about!"

I had my gun out in a moment, slowly backing away. He reached for the top, as if to try to deactivate it. The chances were slim, as I had only seen it done once, but they weren't impossible. All it took was a short and shoddy craftsmanship. I was willing to bet a sketchy mining facility wouldn't invest in the most expensive, high quality cells.

"Leave it!" I snapped.

My voice sounded harsh again, and cold. It didn't at all feel like my own voice. But I had used it more and more as of late. I didn't have the luxury of trusting or talking or laughing. Disappointment stained my resolve to acquire the man's aid, and I felt so much bitterness that tears almost spilled from my eyelids.

"You wanna collect too? I taught Revan himself—you _better_-!" I turned around. "You know what? I'm not even going to shout at you, trash." I smiled as I turned around, knowing he had stopped and would look at me. "Come get me, I dare you."

"No, no, no, no!" he called.

He was sincere. Or he seemed it. Too bad I didn't trust anyone.

"And they think they can send out a special squad, lure me here like vermin to be exterminated? Oh, and I bet you're the best, right? That's what they all say!" I felt as much as I heard myself snarling. "That's how they do it! Last team failed, up to you to succeed! Well, let me tell you something, _Atton_! I have come too far and ran _too_ long to die here at the hands of some fracking liar who has the audacity to look me in the eye and have a conversation before terminating me! How _dare_ you!"

He didn't know where to look now, but his eyes were no longer on my body or my eyes. He seemed to search around as if my barbs were like lashes from a whip.

"Much better men than you have tried to collect on me, I assure you!" I shouted. "And I've butchered them!" Guilt poisoned my words. "I killed them _all_! And for what?" I turned away, half-aware that my tirade was less directed at him now. "To _live_? Is that what I'm doing? Is that what this is? _Living_? Is that what _you're_ doing?"

It had been a while since anybody had identified me. A long, long time.

How terrifying it was to be recognized and known, and how awful it was to face that fear without the confirming shoulder of the Order to return to when I felt afraid.

The absence of the order, of my master, of it all dawned on me in a way it hadn't in a very long time. Sadness – bitterness – gnawed at my insides, cooling my rage.

He'd turned away from the roof of the cell, all hopes of escape gone. He seemed just as breathless as I was, and almost as sad and lost. He stared at me wordlessly.

"I'm leaving," I said, sighing, putting a hand on my forehead. "Just don't follow me, okay? And you better tell your other dogs to back off, if they're hiding somewhere. I survived that crash, and I can guarantee you I'm sure as hell going to survive this."

_I actually kind of liked you in a way_, I found myself thinking sadly, remembering again the solace and the pain.

"Hey, come back!" he called. "It's not what you think!" I didn't stop. "Come on! I didn't mean anything by it! I…Where is everybody? Come back—come on!" I didn't stop, and it killed me. "_Please_!"

"You want me dead too?" I asked him, the anger returning as I flipped to stare into his eyes. "I'm not like other Jedi! I didn't damn myself like they did! I tried to HELP people—as if you would know anything about that. I fight when they ask me to fight and stop when they tell me to stop! I did _everything_ that they asked! I'm not like those other hypocrites and liars!"

I retracted. The last sentence was confusing and inexcusable. I didn't mean to say it. Genuine guilt passed through his eyes. I was even more suspicious.

He finally managed to open his mouth.

"Look," he offered softly, "I didn't mean to sound-,"

"No, you know what?" I asked, feeling tears run down my cheeks. "I was persecuted with all of the rest! So if you want to kill me or hurt me or turn me into some dark lord of the Sith, that's actually _fine_. I don't care what you do with me anymore. I have nothing to lose."

The last part slipped out, and I had to close my eyes. But I saw his eyes. The guilt there seemed to turn to anguish, like he was seeing a sad result to a bad means.

There was an entire minute of absolute silence but breathing and reeling in. The energy that spilled out of me was addicting and intoxicating, but it was dangerous ground.


	4. Chapter 4

I'd nearly lost control.

_This is what happens when the Force is back,_ I snapped internally at the old woman.

She said nothing, and her silence cooled my rage and fanned my own embarrassment.

I sighed and put the gun away, feeling foolish. I walked back to him, running my hands through my hair. "I apologize," I finally offered. "I have no idea where that came from."

He missed only half a beat.

"Well, as long as you unload on me in different ways too, I sure don't mind." He smiled at me wickedly as his eyes deliberately scanned my flesh once more.

It made me tired.

"I don't _know_ where the people are…" I took a breath. His face changed somewhat. Pitying. But every flash of humanness gave away a multitude of disdain, lust, anger - fury even. He made me afraid.

"This facility seems abandoned," I finally said. "Know anything about that?"

"The miners can't all be gone…" He seemed stunned, as if he'd seen many Jedi and he'd never seen one quite like me. "But if they are…Hey, look. I can help you—I can."

"No one can help me," I said evenly. I approached him and looked right into his eyes. "Not even you."

"You don't know me," he offered uncomfortably.

"I know you're smooth-talking, and that's dangerous." I'd seen a million types like him before. His act was nothing new or even refreshing. Just old and tired. "I probably know you better than you want me to by now."

Suddenly, something dawned on him, and his features twisted in anger.

"Don't go in my head, Jedi!" he nearly shouted. "Stay away from my-!"

"I didn't go in your head, dammit!"

I'd taken a step away from his outburst, but my admission didn't cool his anger.

"Jedi aren't supposed to swear," he snapped sullenly.

"I am no Jedi," I said evenly, eyeing him down.

Politely, subconsciously, in a way that helped us both rather than invaded, I felt myself allow Kreia to "trip" through that wall of guilt of his. Though, I felt her then. Cold. Appraising. It could not be comfortable, and I yanked her back from him breathlessly with the feeble control that I had. But, in the retreat, I saw that he was overwhelmed with me. He drowned in me. The thought disturbed me. I walked back towards the door again, away and out of his life forever.

The motion silenced his disdain, as if his survival rested solely with me.

"I was just trying to say I saw your record on the computer." I scowled. He looked permanently stunned. "I don't use _that_, thank you very much — not unless I have to."

"Oh?" he spat. "And when is that?"

"When the children from my home village are being stabbed into the ground because I came from there," I said levelly. "When a man reaches for a friend and tries to rape her. When innocent lookalikes are being tortured to get to their masters that don't and have never existed." I laughed bitterly. "Some of them weren't even Jedi." I looked into his eyes distantly. "Not many people know that, you know?" I smirked again, feeling that sense of knowing without even knowing how. "But I bet you did, didn't you?"

With all of his other emotions—sadness, anger, surprise—there was…remorse.

"I don't use it often." I said emphatically. "I don't like being in two places at once. But I won't hesitate if my life is being threatened. Nothing more than my own safety could motivate me to manipulate somebody else. It's a hard call. Or it was, once."

_Tell nothing more to the fool._

"Get OUT of my head!" I screamed.

_You are in need of guidance. Your fear-_

"If I am afraid, it is by my own head not yours." I shook my head violently. "I hate this."

_Hate not the Force but will it_.

"I don't feel the Force anymore." I snapped. "I don't want this—I don't want-,"

"But—is that possible?" Atton asked.

"What?" I asked. My eyes swam around.

"Not to feel the force anymore. Can you…can you do that?" He seemed afraid. "Once you feel it, I thought it was like a venereal disease. It doesn't go away."

"Nice," I said, upturning my mouth with disgust.

But when I glanced at him, I saw that he was earnest, fearful. He wasn't attempting to insult me. He even gave me a flash of guilt to struggle with, and then confusion, like he didn't know why being sacrilegious around me bothered him. He was testing the waters. While I was aware of his particularly _disgusting_ type of vulgarity, I would have none of it. As it always had, it exhausted me, exasperated me. I was above it.

As was he.

"I thought once it was in you, you were poisoned with it."

I snorted bitterly.

"What you call poison others might call bliss."

"Whatever, what do you know of it? Are you the Jedi or not?"

"No, I am an exile of the Jedi Order."

"And how is that different?"

"Your questions reveal your ignorance, Rand," I said wearily.

_Speak nothing more to the fool!_

I shouted out, clasping my hands to my ears.

"Enough!" I whispered through clenched teeth. "I lost it for a reason! This isn't allowed!"

"You _lost_ the Force?" he asked, almost breathlessly.

My voice shook.

"It…hurts," I whispered, a strange and desperate admission. I put a hand around my stomach and the other wearily on my forehead. "It hurts every second of every day now. They made it that way, I bet. To make me suffer. It's like…it's like making sight a painful sense, making touch rough, making light too bright, making hear too loud." He didn't know what to say. A true ring of pain panged through my head. I sighed. "But it doesn't really-,"

_Speak nothing more to the fool!_

"I do as I wish—you will not control me, demon." I scowled to her, hoping she could see it. "Try again and I will leave this station forever with you in it."

_Your fears are foolish, indeed!_

"If I am afraid, it is by my own head, not yours," I repeated.

"You're afraid?" Atton asked, blinking hard, like he was shocked. I heard his mocking tone. "But Jedi don't feel _fear_."

"You don't know the meaning of the word." I spat, turning to him as close as I allowed myself to dare.

"I think you'd be surprised."

"That you invoke it in others?" I asked, shrugging. "It couldn't matter less to me."

_Speak nothing more to the fool_.

I shuddered and swayed, realizing for the hundredth time that I was alone and yet I heard more than one voice within me. It was something I didn't miss. Something I wished I would continue not to miss.

I tried hard to remember. I blinked an extended blink struggling to shield myself from her, from everything, from Atton, especially from fear—but for nothing. I felt everything all at once at my attempt and I felt weaker than ever.

I put a hand to my chest and woke back to reality.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. My voice shook. "She's, uh…she's in my…" I didn't know what to say. I felt nauseas. "We're…" I cleared my throat. The voices heard it and continued to hound me into coldness. "Let's hurry this up."

I shuddered and walked back over to the com. He watched me strangely, like he'd never seen my kind of Jedi before. I rolled my eyes. "I am not patient enough for you to analyze me, convict. And, you filthy, stinking nerf-herder, you better adjust your eyes pretty quick or I swear I will take yours."

It was the first time I saw his eyes. He was intimidated. I was pleased.

I shuddered again as Kreia's presence overwhelmed me. I threw a wall up, a familiar—if weak—wall, but it was effective for the time. I sighed with relief.

"There's another one here. A dying Jedi." The force cage flickered and then died. He was still silent, and he did not move, but the removal of a barrier between us caused electricity to spark in the room. I flinched almost violently, retracting and taking a step back, suddenly feeling nauseous and breathless. And he noticed, but he didn't act on it, even if his eyes spoke volumes again of what my reaction to lightning did to him.

All he said was,

"A little jumpy, huh?"

I nodded grimly.

"You don't know the half of it," I finally admitted.

I shook my head again, feeling good to have just me there.

"I would bet any amount of credits she's a Sith." My hand went to my hip to check if my sword was there. Then I rolled my eyes. Only a gun was there. How long had it been, and I still hadn't broken the habit?

"Ten years..." I found my mouth answering.

That amount of time was staggering.

"I hate Sith." I began to mutter to myself, struggling with the wall in my head _and_ speech. I had never mastered it, even as a child. "Hate Jedi, hate Sith, hate the Force—dammit!"

_You will not win,_ she said victoriously.

"But I will certainly try."

_This sickens you. Why?_

"It reminds me of harsher times," I responded aloud, completely unaccustomed to responding telepathically.

_You should not try to shut me out-_

"I shut you out when I want." I threw up a wall again, almost as if her words had provoked me into doing so, but it was weak and crumbly. "It's my head—not yours." I blinked hard and felt immediately better where before I felt feverish.

_Why do you fight? Why do you feel sickness?_

I leaned over a little.

"Hey, are you alright?" I heard him ask far off.

I felt bad, worse than I had in years.

_Why let the sickness seduce you?_

"I am not sick," I responded out loud. "I am not."

_Does this remind you of murders you've committed?_

"I am not a murderer!" I whispered menacingly. With a surge of extreme hate, a wall was up—a strong one. I looked over at Atton. He watched me intently, his brown hair falling into his face untouched. "I am no murderer…Do not judge me…"

_He is below your opinion-_

I pressed my hands to my temples hard, trying to remember.

"What is the technique? They told me—I know. The Sith use it…" I began to pace. "Remember now. Remember the Sith, remember, remember-,"

And, suddenly, I remembered where I was and that I should probably not speak of it in such a way. I kept my mouth to myself and thought again, chanting the same words but in my head, and, all at once, my mind felt clear, focused, and collected, but at a cost. I felt a great exhaustion inside of me that I was hardly able to acknowledge.

My hand went to my saberless hip once more. I could not think without it.

"I need a sword," I said to him, returning to reality. "Any sword—a stick. Anything." Then, I scowled, hating the gun there. "I hate guns, don't you?"

The question was antagonistic. I threw it to him wearily and walked by him. He glanced at me, confused, but I only put my hands up. I was sure instead of at them his eyes leered at the sway of my hips as I sauntered out before him.

"Shoot me in the back, I dare you!" I said, throwing up my arms. I almost willed him to, but no shots were fired. He jogged to catch up with me. I was disappointed. "I didn't think so."

I shuddered as I approached the computer. I turned to him, motioning towards the keyboard.

"You can help me, Mr. Rand. You can."

He immediately went to work. His persona was slowly returning, I could see it in the way his lopsided smile twitched around halfway.

"Must be hard being a Jedi, you know? No family, no kids, no _husband_-,"

"No harder than enduring your false sympathy while you're staring at my chest."

"Hey, I didn't mean to-,"

There was a buzz that silenced both of us and I flipped around to address it. When I saw what it was, I laughed harder than I had in a long time. "T3!"

He beeped at me dolefully.

"I know, I know." I searched the screen. "Just me. They're dead."

T3 made another sound, a sad sound.

"I know. I feel bad about it."

Then, his beeps turned up in a way I recognized.

"I don't remember Wild Space, T3."

A short beep, an urgent question.

"No, according to the cryo, I haven't seen him for a long time."

He beeped again.

"I don't know where he is, T3. I'm still a little confused."

And it was true.

I'd woken up in a Republic cruiser. They'd recovered my ship, the Ebon Hawk, with no one else inside, hailing Ramel from Wild Space. They said they'd revived me out of a month long sleep, according to the log. And what I'd been doing before that was get lost and get shot. I'd thought that I'd crashed landed somewhere where Basic language was a far off mystery, but I'd been lured there by the Ebon Hawk's signature - something I'd always looked out for...just in case _he_ was there.

But he hadn't been. Just his ship. I'd had to fight to get to it. I tried hard to remember. It had been in the middle of the woods, lost, like he'd left it there specifically for me to find. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd been right there, waiting, hoping.

Getting there had only been half the battle. I'd fallen from my wounds once I'd locked myself inside. Locals must have discovered me - me and the ship.

They must have followed the emergency instructions in the kit in my ship marked as such. The locals must have been generous or compliant. Whichever, I felt some semblance of gratitude. I could have succumbed there to wounds.

It would have been a lonely way to die.

My instructions had said to return my body, and the ship, to the next living person in my detail from the war. Apparently, that had been Ramel. The rest must have died.

The aching I felt with that taunted me, and I put a hand to my heart, feeling my knees buckle.

T3 beeped worriedly.

"No, no, I'm fine," I lied quickly. "Just...a little tired, I guess."

He beeped again sadly.

"Of course you were expecting _him."_ I rolled my eyes. "We all were…"


	5. Chapter 5

Something about Atton's provocation made me feel like sobbing. His comments on my looks had gotten old quickly, and what was worse, I think that he knew it too. His behavior was off-putting, but not in that it was inherently inappropriate. I'd long since learned that many lude comments had to be ignored to be overcome. No, instead it was Atton's…constancy. He talked and talked and talked. So much noise, so many things to ponder.

The sounds of the voices in my head had not quieted, and the addition of Atton's voice was nearly too much for me to be able to handle.

Perhaps, in the Dark Times, I'd become so socially inept that I would never be the same, never be able to look a person in the eyes and smile, never be able to carry on a conversation without feeling an itch to flee or to arm myself.

_What is _wrong_ with you_? I asked through my distress.

"Hey, princess," Atton said.

I glanced around. He was talking to me. I was the only one there.

"Don't, uh…" He cleared his throat. "Don't worry. We'll get out of here. I've gotten out of trouble countless times."

"Is that so?" I asked impatiently, crossing my arms across my chest. "So tell me then, oh great master, how are we getting out of this mess?"

Amusement passed through his eyes before he let out a sarcastic huff.

"Master…huh…never been called _that_ before." I said nothing, and he became uncomfortable again. "Makes me itch," he decided, shaking his head.

"Whatever," I said. "Just tell me the plan."

"This isn't a military installation, which means we might just have a chance." He eyed the computer distractedly, searching the meaningless wall of holographic numbers and charts with what was clearly expertise. "I think…I can reroute the emergency systems so we can get to the hangars."

"We can grab a ship and fly out of here!" I said, standing taller.

I felt so much hope suddenly, so much hope of being away. Anywhere but where we were. Anywhere open. Some place…not like this.

It dawned on me that the entire facility was a series of cages designed to be self-contained and totally efficient. The place was just hallways, metal, automatic whirring lights that barely counted for anything. There was no side to side in Peragus. There was forward or back. No open space. No place to run. No place to hide.

Just hallways and elevators.

He began to explain to me the details, something about recalling the communication systems via the drift charts or something. I struggled to keep up. Far too complicated for me. If it was me, I'd send out a distress signal, wait, and then when they came – whoever they were – sneak onto the ship just as good as anybody else. The next stop would be reserved for me, and I'd be home free. All of this making public of our situation made me feel…distressed.

I noticed, with this thought, that Atton had a whole lot of "we's" and "ours" and "us's." Not very many "you's" and "I's."

The thought was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Everything I'd learned up to that point had taught me not to agree to this. I was to refuse this man's help, abandon the old woman and the Force she'd shove onto me, and find my own way off – with T3 and the Hawk if possible.

If not, I was still me. I could manage. I always did.

"Maybe we should just split up," I began to suggest.

He just shook his head, oblivious to my shift in mood.

"I think that's probably a bad idea," he said. "Nowhere to go but forward. Not exactly a lot of wiggle room in these kinds of places, right?"

My heart raced. We'd thought the same thing.

Was that a sign?

My heart ached for this to be so, ached for a reprieve of solitude and running. I was tired of doing all this on my own. Of being on my own. My mind knew it had been important for me to be, but…

The Republic was asking for me – me and my ship. They'd wanted me back. Maybe it had been a mistake to try to undo this progress. Maybe it wasn't so bad to be accepted back into open arms. Again, I wished for the wisdom of somebody smarter than me, somebody older and wiser. I wanted _him_ to tell me what to do.

_Stop that_, I told my mind. _He's not here._

The thought sobered me, and something about it was suddenly liberating. I had to be brave. I had to make the big decisions. No more apathy, no more wandering, no more hiding. Action. I needed to take action, or these people, the old hag and "Atton," would surely perish.

And so, I tried to focus on what he was saying when he abruptly exclaimed,

"Hey!"

"What is it?" I asked urgently.

"My control only goes as far as the main hub. It's…been locked up somehow. Cut clean."

Something about this jolted my mind into hyperdrive again, and I furrowed my brow as my heart skipped a beat. A place like Peragus wouldn't allow apathy or indecision. It wouldn't allow hiding and fading. It required action, in all its glory.

Another sign that I had to do something.

Because _they_ were here, and I was sure, even if Atton wasn't part of "they" like I'd originally assumed, that he wouldn't be really happy to find Sith Inquisitors show up while we sat around jabbering.

"That's not standard procedure in an emergency lockdown," I said to him to yank myself into the present. "That means someone tried to make sure nobody got on or off this level. Leave us here. Trapped."

He was silent, but he blinked for a moment in shock.

"Why would anybody do that?" he asked.

I didn't answer, despite the shrewd look that had overtaken his beautiful eyes. He eyed me both warily and out of genuine supplication. Neither of us was sure what to do or how to go. We just knew that something awful had happened, and we were somehow caught in the middle of it.

"Maybe…" I tried, clearing my throat.

I tried to stifle the bile that rose in my throat at the thought of being left on this terrible, cold planet to die with only two strangers as company. Another lonely way to die. And others were coming. I was sure of it. So sure, that I was sure whatever had happened on the facility was likely my fault. So sure, that I was determined to get off of it and to find answers, however and wherever I could.

"Can't we try to contact the miners?" I suggested, feeling a sinking feeling.

"You said the facility was abandoned," he dismissed a little waspishly. "Besides, if the miners were trying to trap you up here and probably kill you, why not call them and chat?"

"How do you know they were after me?" I deflected nervously.

He snorted angrily.

"Yeah right," he said, crossing his arms across his open chest. "I'm sure the entire facility was shut down for one accidental case of weapon's smuggling."

I didn't move. He was talking about himself.

"Trust me, beautiful, I'm nobody important."

"You're putting an awful lot of faith in me considering you don't know me," I snapped.

"You're a Jedi," he replied coolly. "What's your name, anyway?"

I blinked slowly. I felt some degree of humiliation.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm Nune. Nune Ki'ili."

"That's not a Basic name," he probed cautiously.

"No, it isn't," I said back to him nervously. "It's…I'm from a…remote system. You probably wouldn't know it."

"Outer Rim?"

I nodded.

"What language?"

"Deralian," I replied quickly. "That's…the accent. I don't know if you hear it."

I tugged at the undershirt nervously, and he seemed for the first time to become aware of this.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I can hardly tell."

I laughed sarcastically.

"Liar!" I said, but good-naturedly. "Let's just figure out how to get off this station before anything else decides to get to us, alright?"

I hid the fact that speaking with him made my heart race. I hid the fact that I was not calm, hid the fact that the conversation itself had been an obstacle to overcome. I obscured the fact that I felt weak with fear, not just of him but of what I knew to be coming, and I masked the tiredness with a grit and determination I hadn't known I'd had.

I had to hide, but that was okay. It was still hiding. Not side to side hiding, not like before, not like the Dark Times. This was forward and back hiding, hiding in a way that was different. But still hiding.

And if hiding was what I had to do in order to get off the station – to get all of us off this station – then that was certainly what I was going to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Trying to get off of Peragus, sorry. I ended up writing only parts in scenes I really thought needed work, so the in between stuff is mostly fluff. Therefore, I'm writing it right now in order to get to the parts I consider to be more fun.**

By the time we'd reached the Republic vessel the Harbinger, I was very angry. Something about my increasingly small part in a much larger conflict tugged at my resolve to hold in my short temper, and the list of reasons why just got longer and longer.

The droid beeped almost constantly, and Nune replied to it as if it were speaking a language just as easy as Basic. She talked to _it _more than she had talked to me, and some of the things she said seemed as if she was familiar with it. A droid! As if it had feelings, the fracking piece of scrap. I was the one who'd helped her through the entire underbelly of the station. She'd have burned alive or been incinerated by droids by then without me.

Even though this probably wasn't true. I was seeing, more and more, that this young, strikingly beautiful woman was not at all how she appeared.

But that only made me angrier because I didn't understand. The old woman hardly spared me a glance, but when she did something dark, defensive, and dangerous ignited in me. Something terrible that I strived to hide. Her skin was white and her eyes, black. She was obviously not human. Or maybe she had been. Once. It was amazing how long people could live without technology these days, and I was certain that only several lifetimes of cruelty or fatigue could produce the disdain she had in both her body language and voice in respect to me.

But, even still, we followed her, Nune, and she led us. She was quiet in the way she walked, nothing like before, almost as if she was afraid with that hag around. She constantly checked over her shoulders to spare us a glance, and when she did, she'd jump like a lost tuka'ta pup, like she'd just noticed we were there behind her. Like such a blundering idiot, like a bimbo. Like a slut just realizing she was in over her head behind a closed door.

She looked so lost when I found her eyes. So very afraid and stranded, and at first I'd taken it to be naiveté. Now, I wasn't sure what it was, but it rendered me motionless.

The look in her eyes lit up a fire inside of me, and it made me want to ask her a thousand questions I knew I shouldn't.

Her eyes spoke a thousand words that I didn't understand. Expressive. Vibrant. Terrific. They were a darkish brown, but not too dark, and they reflected the light to create a multitude of colors I hadn't known existed before I'd seen them. And it was as if she were behind a two-way piece of glass, struggling to get out, screaming on the other side. The look in her eyes made me want to wrap my limps around her until she stopped looking at me like that.

And that scared me.

Her skin was darkish too, a brown shade that was rare in the Core Worlds. It looked smooth and my fingers curled constantly into the weapon I held to help my weak muscles shake a chill that had settled for wreaking havoc every time she stumbled too close.

And her hair…It was fantastic. It curled in small ringlets all the way down her head, and, despite having the coarse, unique, and strangely beautiful bouncing weight that dark, thick black hair could afford, the curls looked smooth enough to spring if pulled. The hair moved almost as if it was a solid mass, but it swayed, tracing and bouncing just inches above her shoulders.

The rest of her was just as invigorating. Her mouth was thin, but not too thin, and the shape of them was defined. Her jaw was strong, and her cheekbones high on her face – almost gaunt, but not quite. Her eyebrows were low to her eyes, and they afforded her an expression of constant awareness. She looked clever because of the expression of her eyes, tactical, thoughtful.

Beautiful.

Her neck was long. Her collarbone was defined. Her shoulders looked a little bony, or they had when she was without clothes, and the curves that came out of her had instantly caused my blood to surge downward. I'd had to actively speak in order to resist ogling her – not that I'd succeeded.

And then, after seeing all that, observing all that – all in just a moment – she had the audacity to be a Jedi.

There was anger and rage and hatred. I felt disgust with myself for being a man, for feeling the urges I'd felt after I'd learned of her nature. I felt so much disdain at the thought of traveling with a Jedi.

And yet…as she spoke, as she opened up just a peek of what was inside of her, I felt a different shade of anger. It was clear that the Jedi had done her a clear injustice. She said she didn't feel the Force anymore, and that pinched me inside. I felt sick, so sick that I wanted to crawl back to Nar Shadaa to forget it. The look in her eyes when she'd screamed at me made me want to die. The fear. The clear want to submit, the obvious desire to succumb.

But she hadn't succumbed. She'd returned her control to her. It was a thing rarely done. Jedi, for all their talk, often didn't have willpower longer than others did. They just knew how to turn it on and off a lot better than other people.

Why I wanted her justice done was beyond me, and I tried to attribute it to the fact that we had to work together or none of us were going to survive.

We walked silently through the ghost ship, the Republic ship, but when we stepped into it, it was empty. Cold.

"I have a bad feeling about this," I whispered under my breath.

"Me too…" she whispered back, glancing at me sidelong.

We turned a corner, but she stopped, and I nearly ran into her. I felt a lock of her hair. It was as thick and soft as I'd imagined it, and I took a step back in annoyance. It was as if she was taunting me deliberately. I was in a foul mood already without feeling an urge that was simply inconvenient for the sake of my bad attitude's continued existence.

"What? Why are we stopping?" I asked impatiently.

She didn't answer, but her face was pale. Suddenly, she looked cold. I noticed her knees were buckling, and her eyes turned back to us slowly. Again, her eyes lit up, realizing she was not alone, and she opened her mouth several times before whispering,

"This was…my room." She nodded over to a broken door. It was burned on the outside, and the durasteel was forced inwards, as if somebody had tried to pry it open with something hot and molten.

_With a lightsaber_, I thought to myself, hairs raising on the back of my neck.

"This was your room?" I repeated dumbly. "When?"

"Before I…lost consciousness on the Hawk. I thought it might be the same ship, but…" She sighed sadly. "They're all dead. All dead because of me."

"How can you possibly tell it's the same ship?" I asked incredulously. "Republic isn't known for its originality in ship design."

She swallowed before answering.

"The ceiling," she whispered, pointing to a mark I hadn't noticed. It just looked like a burn. "There was a…slight 'mix up' with the door, they said." She pursed her lips, clearly holding back distress. "They'd locked me in, and I shot the locking mechanism until it broke."

I hadn't noticed it.

Maybe I was right about her eyes after all. She was so with it that it put me to shame.

And I would have been lying if I'd said part of me didn't ache to see even a glimpse of her life before. For some reason, I was terrified to ask – maybe because I knew that she could never, ever ask about mine.

Mutely, she walked over to the door and knelt down near the burn. Her eyes turned back up to me as I approached her from behind, and she searched my face for answers with such disarming clarity that I looked away for fear she'd see too deeply and abandon me somewhere.

"I need to see if my stuff is still here," she said back to the woman I'd forgotten was there.

"Whatever you do, do it quickly," the hag named Kreia snapped.

Wordlessly, but with a scowl that wasn't lost to me, she stepped over the threshold. I followed her in, and she glanced back at me. She'd expected me to stay outside, but part of me felt that this was something I needed to see. I had to see it.

She stared at me for a moment longer before walking over to a footlocker across the room. She bent down into it, and I was momentarily distracted by the angle of her ass from here. I found my eyes drawn to the shape of it, and my mouth began to water as I wondered what it might feel like when my hands took it and squeezed.

She stood up abruptly and turned to me. I looked away just in time, and something about the look on her face made me feel strangely guilty, strangely empty.

In her hands, there was a holodisc, a dirtied piece of cloth with a green symbol on it, and a rock about the size of her small palm. She really was very small and short, so as she came over to me with it, she had to look up into my eyes, as if daring me to question the contents.

But this was something that couldn't go unchecked.

"What the _hell_ is that stuff?" I asked irritably. "Did we get lost in this ship just to find some junk they forgot to clean out of your cell?"

Hurt flashed in her eyes as her palms clutched the cloth and rock tighter to her chest. In her other hand, she walked over to the bed and placed the holodisc in the player.

A man I'd never seen appeared, but he was clearly in the Republic Medical Military. The uniform was a clear giveaway.

"I'm amazed she's lasted this long," the voice was saying. "She hasn't spoken yet, not to us, not coherently, but Sandres seems to be making some progress with her. She did call him directly after all."

"Who's that?" I asked over the recording.

She narrowed her eyes before answering,

"I don't know."

"We've discovered that she's more aware than she lets on though," the medical officer continued. "Though, she could just be in shock. She doesn't respond to most stimulus, but when we walk in the room she stiffens. She seems to count us when we walk in and out, and her eyes are often drawn to the door. She hasn't moved from her bed yet, but that's likely for the best."

I felt aching inside of me as I saw a picture of her flash up where the man had once been.

"Do you know where you are?" a woman asked a colder, sicker, less alive version of the Nune that stood stiffly next to me.

Nune tried to look at the woman, past the screen, and opened her mouth to speak, but something stranger came out. Something close to a choked sob. I felt a pain in my lower abdomen. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. I wanted to be able to force myself to not see, but I had to. I deserved to see.

I knew that sunken, dead look in Nune's eyes. I'd seen it a hundred times.

"It's alright now, it's alright," the woman was saying. "You're safe now. We're with the Republic. Can you tell me your name?"

Nune shook her head, trying hard to breathe and failing.

"Can you tell me who did this to you?" the new woman asked Nune, and a hand reached up and gently took Nune's hand.

Nune reacted violently, yanking away and shrieking.

"NO!" Nune shouted. "DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T TOUCH ME!"

"That's enough!" my Nune said harshly, reaching forward and yanking the holodisc out without terminating the program.

I stood awkwardly beside her, in so much inner turmoil suddenly that I wanted to get down on my knees and beg for her to strike me. I didn't know why Nune had been in the state that she was in. I didn't know why she was in the state she was in now. I didn't understand why Nune was so intriguing, nor did I quite understand why I found her body so fracking irresistible to ogle. I didn't get to ask.

But I wanted to know, and I wanted to ask.

"What was that about?" I asked, my voice softer than it had been in all the time I'd known her – which in reality was only a few hours.

"Doesn't matter," she replied swiftly. "Let's just get off this fracking ship so that we can forget we ever saw it."

But, even so, I saw her slip the disc clandestinely into the pocket on her opposite side, away from me. The anger returned. She was a liar and a cheat. If she wasn't one, she'd have surely never been in that state. Nobody with half a brain was ever shocked to the point of speechlessness. Nune must have been a fool. She must have put herself in a dangerous situation, just like the one we were in now, and she must have walked into a trap or a prison or into Imperial territory or something.

_Yup,_ I decided as she dipped her hips out to go back into the hallway. _Clearly some kind of ditz._


	7. Chapter 7

By the time we'd made it to the Ebon Hawk, "her" ship, I couldn't keep my mouth shut anymore. My part was small, yes, but Peragus was gone, blown to bits in an explosion I'd wanted not to be a part of. My anger bubbled over, not just at being inadvertently dragged into this but because both she and Kreia hadn't told me anything. Even the droid knew more than I did, and that was unacceptable to me.

Really, what did I know about these two people? I'd found myself invested in their success, in their survival, but now that we were on our way away to the Republic, on our way to _away_ from where we had been, I felt an uncoiling inside of me. Soon, we wouldn't be isolated, and we'd go our separate ways.

If I managed to slip away without being noticed. Somehow, despite how stunning Nune was, I didn't think I'd get that lucky. Now, I was a part of whatever trouble she was in, and that upset me. I'd strived so hard not to get into any more trouble. I'd avoided everything and everyone to make sure of it.

Now, due to circumstances totally beyond my control, I was following an infuriatingly cryptic Jedi master and her little fledgling pawn. I'd come to appreciate that pawn, yes, but they'd yanked me in without asking. They'd manipulated me into helping, and I felt so angry to have been duped.

I didn't know if this logic was skewed, but I was too pent up, too frustrated, too confused to really care. I just needed to yell, to understand, to get it out.

Of course, she was my easiest and most desirable target.

"Well, now that we just killed a planet, maybe one of you can tell me what's going on. Because between assassin droids, a Sith Lord that looks like he sleeps with vibroblades, and being target practice for a Republic warship, I was better off in my cell!"

"I don't know what's going on!" Nune said weakly.

"That's such bullshit!" I shouted at her. "Do you know what you've just managed to do? Peragus was a fuel depot. The Republic will be hurting without it, and you just blew it up without a second thought!"

"_I_ blew it up?" she shouted back, rising to the challenge in a way that made a monster inside of me laugh with pleasure. "We did all of this together! If I did anything, you helped me do it! You can't shove the blame solely on my shoulders!"

"Sure I can!"

"Oh yeah? And why is that?"

"Because they were after _you_, weren't they?" I shouted back, inching closer to her all the time. "Not me! Not that old bat! _You_! And I want to know why!"

She backed away now, removing her eyes from mine. She looked overwhelmed and hit the wall with a small "oof" sound.

"I don't know why," she whispered quietly. "I really don't know what's going on."

"You're such a liar!" I yelled back, jumping at her weakness.

But Kreia cut in, even as she opened her mouth with a scowl that would silence even Republic Senators.

"The Republic warship was the Harbinger," she explained. "This, we knew, and we learned from your room there. It was seized on its way to Telos by the Sith. You must have left shortly before their assault."

I made a point not to notice that Nune shook harder at this, and her knees buckled a little bit under the duress.

"Naturally, they sought you, Jedi," Kreia continued emotionlessly.

"That…makes sense," she finally managed to croak out. "The Sith cruiser. It was the Ravager. It shot us down after…I left." Then, her eyes turned away from mine and they scrunched together with accusation. "How did you know that I left?" she asked with that same vicious tone she'd used on me during her tirade.

"I was on the Ebon Hawk for the duration," she explained simply.

Nune just blinked, which made me feel less bad for doing the same.

"How is that even possible?" she asked outright. "I was asleep, I was…dying. You weren't there. You were…"

I stiffened at this and took her in.

"How long ago was that?" I asked her in surprise.

"I don't know. Maybe…" She put two hands to her head, and she looked so small that way, so lost. "A few days ago?" Her voice was high pitched and she sounded like she was about to cry. "I think five or six – five or six days ago?"

"It has been seven days since you crash landed on a planet named Velabri, where I was waiting in the Ebon Hawk."

She didn't remove her hands from her forehead.

"Why were you there?" Suddenly, her voice became more urgent. "Why were you there with that ship? Where was the owner of the ship?"

"The Ebon Hawk's owner had long since abandoned the ship in those woods, and I had a vision to go to it and wait for one such as you. Upon my arrival, I succumbed to a deep meditation in the cargo hold, and I was not discovered until you were shot down over Peragus."

"A…a vision?" she asked weakly. "To wait for me?"

"That is what I said," she said, beginning to be mildly irritated.

"But I almost died there," Nune argued. "Why didn't you help me?"

"As I said, I was deep in meditation. The limitations of the world around me did not seem of any consequence. Besides, you did not die. I used the Force to rescue you from your wounds and to summon the creatures of that world, manipulating their feeble minds to follow the set of morbid instructions you had prepared with your belongings. From there, your old soldier was hailed, we were picked up by the Harbinger, and you escaped it again just before it must have been bombarded in an attempt to kill you."

"Quite a coincidence," I said sarcastically.

"True," the old woman said with that same vicious condescension. "But as one trained in the Force, it is encumbered upon me to tell you that true coincidences are rare."

"How did we get to Peragus?" she asked the old woman wearily. "It was nearly destroyed by the time we made the jump to hyperspace."

The metal can next to us began to explode with noise, and Kreia and I both sighed angrily.

"Shut that scrap heap up, will you?" I yelled at her.

"He said he repaired the ship!" she snapped back. "Learn to understand! His language isn't that hard!"

"Repaired this ship, my eye!" I shouted back angrily. "Next thing you know it's going to claim credit for saving our skins! If that little noisemaker says it repaired the ship once, then it can prove it by doing it again! Go on, get!"

The droid made a sad kind of noise, and I nudged it towards the hallway into the main hold. It zapped me once, and I swore loudly. I made to kick it, but it zoomed away from me and out of the cockpit.

There was a moment of silence before she took a deep, shaking breath.

"So…why are these Sith after me?" she asked, as if she was afraid of the answer she already seemed to know.

"Because you are the last of the Jedi," the old woman explained.

I felt nauseas. I felt dizzy. I felt weak. All of the feelings that I kept buried deep inside of me came out all at once, and I felt like I might vomit. She stood less than a foot from me. We'd advanced on one another in our anger. At the time, it had ignited something inside of me, a pleasure and an anger that came with physical attraction. It was a need, closer to a desire but also a need to dominate.

But the realization, the confirmation, that Nune was a Jedi was too much. I felt like an affront. I felt like I didn't deserve to stand in the same room. I felt, more than anything else, shame and fear. I took a step away from her carefully, so neither of them would notice, and I was consumed by a moment of overpowering emotions.

This woman, this small woman, this beautiful woman, was the last of her kind. Not only did the loss of the Jedi seem so insurmountable, but it also seemed so much more terrible. That had been the goal, sure but to see it achieved was…unthinkable.

When I emerged, Nune seemed to have thought the same thing.

She finally leaned over, hands on her knees.

"What do you mean, the 'last of the Jedi?'" she asked loudly. "There are hundreds of Jedi! They can't all be…they can't all…"

"You are the last of the Jedi," Kreia repeated.

Nune hardened at this.

"I am _not_ a Jedi," she snapped. "Not anymore."

"You were, and that is all that matters."

She opened her mouth angrily.

"Like hell that's all that matters!" she shouted, standing tall. "I was exiled! I was thrown away like a – like a bad dog! The Jedi spat at me!" Sobs escaped now, and she was obviously struggling to reel them in.

Something about them choked me.

"They threw me away! How can I be punished by both sides?"

"Exile or not, the Sith believe you to be a Jedi Knight," Kreia insisted. "And that is all that matters."

It was true. That was all that would matter to them.

Something about this snapped the resolve I had, and the anger I felt about this became instantly directed at her – unfairly, but I didn't care.

"None of that matters right this second!" I asked loudly. "What do both of you know about this ship?" I was determined to be a victim – and an angry one at that. I didn't want to talk about her being a Jedi. I didn't want to talk about Jedi at all.

"It was prominent during the Mandalorian Wars," Nune finally whispered to me, as if to shush me. Then, she turned to Kreia. "_She_ seems to know what's going on. Why don't you stop yelling at me and ask her instead?"

"Because I feel like asking you!" I said with a pointed increase in volume. She winced, and only a small part of me felt bad.

"Fine, then _I'll _ask her," Nune snapped back at me. "Where was the Harbinger headed?"

"To Telos," was Kreia's answer. "It is where we must go…and where the Harbinger was bound before its unfortunate demise from the Ravager."

"So I'm not going to escape that place after all," Nune hissed, rolling her eyes. "Great. Just great."

"Hey, what are you so mad about?" I snapped at her. "A whole lot of people died on their way instead of you. Show a little respect."

So reprimanded, the hurt, just the same as it had when we'd gone into her room, flashed across her eyes. And I felt like punching myself for having caused it.

This feeling, so deflating and intense, took away my words, and I was glad when the two of them began to speak. I was excluded from the conversation, and this didn't make me unhappy. I was able to retract to think, to ponder. For so long, my indignation had been all that mattered. I felt so much self-righteousness that it seemed for me to be wrong.

Then again, I don't think I knew what was right and wrong anymore. I'd spent so many nights sleeplessly tossing in whatever bed I had to know whether or not my actions were dictated by nonsensical urges or logic. I used to live by a code. I used to be able to keep all this in.

My outbursts of anger disturbed me. The fact that I was angry with Nune disturbed me. I hadn't been angry in a very long time. I'd been mildly irritated, maybe, but never angry. Never happy. Never sad. I didn't laugh, didn't smile.

And yet, she'd already made me laugh a few times. She'd caused me to grin from ear to ear, and she sometimes made me feel physically weak or so aroused I wanted for her to leave so that I could handle it without feeling humiliated. I was not above attraction, but this felt like something different. Something scary.

It was if I was attracted to her, not just her perfect body that I ached just to touch. It was as if part of my insides relied on knowing her and being around her. The intensity of this was frightening and disturbing. But I didn't know how to stop it, and I didn't know if I even should. I was good at putting up walls, but maybe, with her, I couldn't.

Maybe it was because she didn't have the Force. Maybe that was what it was. I'd met all kinds, after all. Some with so little Force they came across as dunces and some with so much of it that it was scary just to stand next to them. Those kinds, the ones with lots of Force, they had a way about them. They knew you before you talked to them, and their eyes told you they knew it.

Made me itch.

Or maybe it was her eyes that made me feel strange, her eyes that called out to me from across galaxies with a desperation for help. I found myself empathizing with the look in her eyes, and I didn't like that. I wanted to think nothing of her. In a way, I kind of did, still. If I got a chance to leave, I knew I'd take it. I'd leap at it. Maybe I wasn't so good at knowing what I was about, but I was certainly an extremely talented survivor. I kept away from people like her.

Even if this time I felt like I'd been punched just thinking about leaving her to the fate she was obviously just learning about.

When I came back to that little ship, Kreia had gone, and Nune just stood there. Her knees buckled, and deep bags under her eyes weighed them down, urging them to sleep. Her hands shook at her sides, but beyond that she was still. Her eyes were wide, wide awake, open and terrified in a way that terrified me. She didn't understand. All movement was abandoned in favor of being able to comprehend the vastness of what had been asked of her.

Slowly, in the silence, I fought hard to remember. Kreia had told her that she needed to find the other Jedi. She was the last one, and she was the glue to put them back together.

Her eyes told me all the ways in which this was so totally unfair that it hurt inside.

I wanted to reach out to touch her, to wake her up from that small, dark corner in her mind, but my thoughts rushed back to the way she had reacted before when that woman had touched her. I didn't want such a violent reaction. I think, if I saw it again right then, the droid would have lunged at me, Kreia would have sliced me in half, and Nune would retreat even further into what was obviously senility.

I found myself wondering how long she had been alone, and then, suddenly, how old she was. If I had to guess, she looked younger than thirty. Ridiculous to think that she should be the one spearheading this movement to bring the Jedi back. There were other Jedi, older, wiser, masters. I'd met half of them, seen the other half get away. I was surprised that I didn't know of her.

Maybe I wasn't meant to. There were some Jedi from the wars that had been explicitly ignored due to their contribution to the first one. I wondered who or what she must have done to earn the complacency of the Sith or what had become the new Imperial Army. I was also afraid to know.

I found myself wanting her to be as good as she had been. I found myself aching for her to have survived all this mess. She'd briefly told me she'd fought in the Mandalorian Wars, and she'd pointedly skipped over the Jedi Civil War as if she didn't want to talk about it. I assumed this meant she was not involved, that she was guilty for having run away. I'd learned she was an Exile so far.

But I wanted more. So much more. I wanted to know her so badly that it hurt.

Finally, I couldn't take the look in her eyes anymore. I addressed her, and she jumped violently into reality, tensing for what might have been pain – and I ached. I couldn't be alone with her. Not right then. I needed my bearings, so I pushed her onto the older woman, urging her to speak with her, to check on her. I told Nune that Kreia respected her.

This seemed to shock Nune, and I felt the mean part of myself try to laugh inwardly at her stupidity.

But the larger part of me saw that she was not arrogant or preachy, was not necessarily wise or all-knowing. She was just a woman, maybe even a girl still, and she was just trying to make her life work.

Oddly, but with a world of desperate reluctance, I found myself respecting her a little bit too.


	8. Chapter 8

I felt sick inside. I was actively staving off a building panic, and I was sure that nothing and no one would prevent it from being unleashed. Somehow, I was being reeled into something huge. Galaxy huge. I'd tried so hard to get lost, to never be found. I'd tried so desperately to remain in blissful anonymity for the remainder of my days.

Then, just hours before, I'd met a woman who not only knew me but who knew things about me I hadn't told anybody in years. She frightened me.

And she demanded more.

I didn't know how to lead people anymore. It had been ten years since I'd been in the Republic. I was a child then, rash and bold. I felt so old now, out of the game. I forgot what it felt like to hold a lightsaber or lead a group of men into battle. I forgot what it felt like to channel the Force in simple ways, let alone in ways that involved combat. I would likely collapse from fatigue. I would be sloppy.

I must have been sloppy. I was always sloppy. So sloppy.

Because everything was going horribly wrong, just like it always did.

All of this had happened just because I'd been caught in a lightning storm trying to find _him_. And it had driven me to find his ship. Everything had spiraled after that. This was _his_ way. Things quickly became bigger than they seemed.

And my sloppy footwork would be my undoing, as it had in so many different occasions.

This time, it seemed too big, but I was too tired to continue to reject this. Nobody was listening to me. Kreia just simply insisted that I wasn't listening to _her_, and Atton was too busy being Atton, I was sure, to pay any attention to me. Not that he would in any way but one.

He couldn't take his eyes off of me.

Even so, I felt companionship with him. A small part of me felt comfort to know that a normal person like him could see me and not be repulsed. It gave me hope for the future. I'd done so many terrible things. The life I'd once lived weighed on me constantly every day. The thought that he didn't need to know this was satisfying. What was more, the thought that he didn't know this and still laughed at a joke I made or…tried to cheer me up…

That made all the difference in the galaxy.

Some small part of me was still alive inside. I thought I was completely dead, but he was proving me wrong. He was stirring my living-self up from a dark cave. Before Atton, before Peragus, before all this, companionship had been agonizing. For ten long years, even the mere prospect of trying to look into somebody's eyes and talk to them rendered me motionless with sadness.

It was overwhelming.

A maw inside of me had never been quite filled after I'd come back, after Malachor V. Nobody ever bothered to ask me if I was okay. If it had been hard. If this was something I wanted – no, _needed_ – to talk about.

I could see him asking me this. He wanted me to believe that he was some scummy smuggler who didn't have any respect or care in the world. But, for all my isolation, I was still remarkably good at reading people.

Maybe that was the shreds of Force trickling back into me.

It was back in full swing now.

It hurt now like I remembered it hurting after the battle.

Tears had come to my eyes, and I wiped them furiously – and with haste to make sure he didn't see. I watched him attentively, and it appeared he hadn't.

I found myself less ashamed though. I wasn't wanting for anything to him.

Maybe it was my body.

But then again, maybe I didn't care. To be accepted so freely was something that hadn't happened to me in ten years.

It was a greater gift than any had given me since my life before. And his gift stretched longer than that. He was abrasive, at times, and rough around the edges. But he was different in more than just obvious ways. His eyes spoke volumes, and the emotions that flitted through them told stories.

He carried sadness and pain. So much pain. Rage. Guilt.

He was dangerous. Would have been a dangerous Jedi.

And yet, I wasn't sure if this was an accurate assumption. In a way, his emotions seemed just as volatile as many others I'd come to know. Emotions were frowned upon, but to those in my inner circle, we'd always been bad at following that rule. Instead, we just learned to keep a lock on them.

Atton certainly had _that_ down to a science.

Despite this, he demanded nothing from me, excepting for a few answers that I was distraught to tell him that I did not have. He only seemed to want baby steps. Small, little steps towards a brighter light. He didn't reach into the sludge of my memories and drag me out with bleeding fingers as I clawed for him to retreat. He instead waited, still and patient, just above the murky depths, hand extended. He was drawing me out. He didn't demand I make an entrance.

Nothing like _Kreia_.

Feeling as such, I felt compelled to stay by his side instead of staying by hers, so I was relieved when she'd shooed me away so that she could tend to her wounds.

I realized I'd been standing stock still, lost in thought, and I felt my legs moving forward to draw closer to Atton.

At my approach, Atton didn't stand.

I was struck by an intense sensation of having been here before, and I felt the now very familiar, desensitizing pain shoot through me. I'd been here only a day before, maybe only hours, and the pilot then had been my friend. An old friend, from the war. Young, smart, with a family, he'd said.

And he'd been alive.

Atton, not seeing me and knowing nothing of my trailing thoughts, just turned slightly in his swiveling chair and glanced over his shoulder. He seemed to laugh in relief that it was me approaching and not her, but he still didn't get up from his seat. Something about this calmed my racing heart. I was nobody to be admired or put up on a pedestal. He treated me like an equal.

This was glorious and surprising. It was different to be treated like everybody else. In my experience, people usually treated me much worse or much better. Admittedly, I'd withheld some things from him. I hadn't been able to tell him I'd been in the Jedi Civil Wars. I'd mentioned the Mandalorian Wars, of course, but everybody knew that.

My involvement in the Jedi Civil Wars was a total secret, and anybody who knew about it lied in a pile of waste on far off planets, having rotted through stomachs of animals as corpses, long dead before their consumption.

I'd left no survivors.

_No_, I reprimanded myself. _Not this. You're in a ship full of people who deserve your attention._

Feeling guilty, I cleared my throat and peered over at Atton from across the room. He poked at the dashboard of the ship cautiously, as if he was testing the waters or trying very hard just to waste time to keep his mind on something.

Boy, I knew what that was like.

I felt tired, so tired, but I was suddenly a little nervous to fall in too closely. Proximity was still new to me, and he and I had broken it more than once in the last day out of necessity. When it was necessary, that was fine. It was an evil that could be swallowed. Recreationally, it felt very strange and unpleasant. I did not know how to speak to people, not like him. He was a fast talker, slick and smooth. He'd obviously had a lot of experience dealing with all types.

I'd made it my business not to have any experience with people in the last ten years, and I tugged at the sleeves on my shirt, sure that this ineptitude would show. I opened my mouth to say something a few times, but nothing came out. I was grateful that he was so focused on doing…whatever it was that he was doing.

That way, I didn't need to worry that he'd lash out at me. Instead, I stood erectly behind Atton's chair. This way, I was out of arm's reach so he couldn't hit me when I let my guard down.

I snorted at myself. How paranoid had I become?

"How's our passenger?" he asked me. "Is she still _aging_?"

I was relieved he spoke first.

"Cryptic as always," I forced myself to say, trying hard to reel in my thoughts.

It was becoming harder and harder. It was the Force's doing, I thought. It allowed me to think faster and pack more into mere moments what many could not do in minutes.

It hurt still.

"What a surprise," Atton said, glancing back at me again.

He seemed unnerved that I stood this way, like I was an officer overseeing an inspection.

I found myself absently staring at his hands. Atton wasn't really doing anything. In fact, he seemed to be pressing buttons to mimic what the ship was doing. We all knew the ship was in lockdown. I'd even tried to unlock it, but the voice imprint had changed between my passing out and waking on Peragus. The voice imprint seemed to be a Republic signature that was vaguely familiar to me. I knew I should know it, but my memory was terrible. So, we took the Hawk, obviously not at the behest of whoever had locked it, and we were on our way. Whoever hadn't wanted us to move – or _me_ to move – obviously hadn't anticipated that T3 would be on the case.

But, in any case, the ship was locked into its destination. Telos. They'd likely catch up to us there, but that was another problem for another time.

So, trying hard to remain in the present, I focused with difficulty on his deft fingers. He could do nothing to stop it or change its course.

But still, he seemed intent on following the pattern the buttons made.

Very odd.

"Just so you know," he was saying, "the whole 'cryptic routine' isn't mysterious. It's just irritating. If you really can see the future, you should be at the pazaak table."

All at once, the peace he brought was put on the rocks. I found my upper lip twitching with a growing irritation. He had such a disdain for my old kind that it kept me on edge and, to be honest, a little bit angry. He obviously wasn't a Jedi. He had no place to make judgments.

Maybe _that_ was why I wanted to stay out of arm's reach.

Or maybe his disdain was just a good excuse to try to piss him off right back.

Well…I _was_ out of arm's reach.

An unfamiliarly pleasing smirk reached my lips at the thought of provoking him.

"In order to know the future," I said dryly, "you have to know yourself."

He scoffed loudly.

"What was that?" he snapped, sounding more irritated than ever. "Some kind of joke? That's what I'm talking about. 'Jedi Talk.' You two should start your own little Jedi Academy."

For some reason, this hurt a little bit, but I buried it deep, determined to stay alert.

"In order to teach, one must be willing to learn," I said.

Oh, the platitudes.

I couldn't hide a laugh as Atton glanced back at me. His face, full of anger, quickly turned to one of delight when he saw that I was joking.

"Alright!" he said, holding up his hands. "I get…"

"And to learn, one must be willing to -,"

He laughed now.

"I get it!" he said, shaking his head. "I get it! The last Jedi in the galaxy. I get the comedian who runs around in her underwear. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

I colored at this, stiffening.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I replied wryly, squeezing the back of the chair nervously. "I'm gorgeous. What can I say?"

His fingers hesitated for a moment, and I saw him flex his fingers before tightening them into fists, as if the mere suggestion sent chills through his body. His voice took on a low, husky quality.

"Damn straight, you are," he mumbled back.

"You could lay off the jokes though," I said cautiously. "You have to admit that I'm a _little_ more entertaining than just a pair of tits."

Again, he paused.

"You never know," he said back hoarsely. "I have a feeling yours would be _very _rewarding."

I colored now and opened my mouth, but I couldn't think of anything to say. Suddenly, I felt very hot all over, and I could feel the blood rush to my face. More bizarrely, and in a way that almost entirely unpleasant, tears came to my eyes.

"Don't say that," I said quietly.

His hands didn't stop this time. In fact, they seemed to fly even faster through the colors on the console, as if he was trying to drown in them to block me out.

But his voice reflected none of this.

"Look, princess, relax," he said, laughing so casually that I felt like an idiot. "I find you _extremely _attractive. All I meant was that compared to the Jedi Queen of the Galaxy back there, I'd rather be stuck in an escape pod for a year with you than her."

And, even though the way he said it wasn't completely platonic, this was okay because Atton meant nothing by it. I relaxed a little bit, and it gave leave for some of his words to resonate with me.

I took a chance. I confided in him.

"I don't think Kreia is a Jedi," I said back to him seriously.

The implications of what I said ignited a fear in me unlike any I'd felt in many years, but he seemed entirely too consumed by his need to press buttons to notice.


	9. Chapter 9

In fact, it seemed he would have none of this Jedi business. I could tell by the glint in his eyes that he was trying to get me to relax.

"Then she must be royalty," he said, glancing up at me again, "because she's got to be the Queen of the Galaxy to bark out orders like that. Or maybe she's senile."

I let out a laugh now, and he was driven on by it.

"I mean, how _old_ do you think she is? She may have been good-looking once, but it takes some hard living to make creases like that."

"Good looking?" I asked loudly.

I couldn't help it. I laughed hard, and I found myself sitting beside him.

"Good _looking_? Are you _that_ desperate? If she looks good to you, you must have taken a blaster hit when I wasn't looking."

"Hey!" he said, stopping to look up at me for just a moment before returning to the console. "I just got out of _prison_. If we had a decent navicomputer, trust me, we'd be dropping out of hyperspace into the Nar Shadaa Red Sector _right now_. After spacing that old witch, of course."

Nar Shadaa. The Dark Planet.

Something about its mention caused a hundred things to rush back to me, and I felt a little dizzy. This conversation was not a different life. This new plan, new destiny, it was not a different path. I'd still experienced everything I'd experienced. I still hurt the same. I still carried the same hurts and pains. I'd still done the things I had done, and I still had to hurt for it. This was the choice I had made all that time ago.

I was placing far too much stock in these two strangers than I was comfortable with. They were not my redemption. They made me feel…better. They made the pain less bearable.

But the pain was there.

And Atton wanted to go to the Red Sector. The wickedest, blackest part on the Dark Planet.

The memories that he'd stirred up just at its mention soured my mood.

"That's your thing, huh?" I asked him wearily, crossing my arms.

"What?" he asked, almost like I'd just punched him in the face.

"The Red Sector," I said immediately. "That's your thing?"

He glanced at me twice between long pauses before answering again, and he reinvigorated his finger's search for the disappearing buttons of light.

"I'm shocked, really I am, that you, a Jedi, are surprised that I, a hot blooded and _ridiculously_ good looking man, enjoy watching women of exotic locales dance half naked in a seedy bar."

He wanted to offend me.

I sneered out the window, feeling bitter. I wished that I was offended, but I wasn't. I wished I hadn't seen that part of the galaxy, but I had.

All too well.

"Are you trying to _offend _me, Mr. Rand?" I asked him, leaning into him a little bit.

My voice had taken on an amused, almost seductive quality.

Finally, his hands stopped moving and he turned to face me. I heard him swallow.

"Maybe," he said. "Do you offend easily?"

"Thankfully, no," I said, leaning back again with a sigh.

I was lying through my teeth. I was the most sensitive person I knew.

Not that I knew too many people anymore. Well. That were still alive.

"Good," he said, hesitating only a brief second before going back to the console. "Because if you stick with me, the Red Sector is exactly where we're going next, Jedi."

So he had picked up on it. I wasn't a Jedi, and he knew it. He'd seen me react, and he was toying with me.

The bastard.

I suddenly felt very angry, but I tried not to rise to his bait.

"I'm sure there are a few things you could learn there," he continued, prodding me. "The women there aren't bright, not by a _long_ shot, but I'm sure they know a lot of things that a beautiful and innocent little princess like you couldn't even dream about."

New anger came.

I'd _met _those girls. I'd slept in their homes and lived with them. It was a rule to look dumb, to play stupid. Cry, whimper, flash your skin and hope it ends quickly. A friend I'd met there told me that once.

Hope it ends quickly.

Atton knew nothing about any of them. And, worse, he knew nothing about me.

It would have been less painful if he'd used a burning piece of metal. No, he wasn't taunting me.

He was _mocking_ me.

I squeezed my fists with rage, and for the first time in a few long years, I was relieved that I no longer had the Force. With it as my ally, I was sure I would have let it consume me and that I would make quick business of tearing his flesh – and his favorite appendage – from his bones.

"In fact," he continued (with a voice that I could clearly identify as a mocking drawl now,) "I've heard there's a bounty out in Hutt territory for Jedi like you. Sexy, beautiful. I bet you'd look _amazing _in one of those outfits dancing against a pole."

I began to shake, and he knew it.

"Not that you'd fit in, of course," he said. "I can't imagine you know anything about…that kind of thing." He sneered at the motions of his hands. "Please, I implore you, do come find me when you decide you need lessons. I'm sure just one session would me would be _very _informative."

"ENOUGH!" I shouted, standing next to him.

He glanced up at me just before my palm flew across his face.

And he reacted. Badly.

Almost as if it was an instinct, he twisted my wrist and yanked me downwards before swinging me around and pressing me hard against the far wall with his torso. I didn't struggle because I already knew that it was fruitless. I was trapped, and he was bigger and stronger.

Fear.

That was what this was. Memories flew in. All sorts of memories. Overwhelming panic threatened to descend, and the hopelessness of the voices I'd seemed to be able to ignore for the past day flew back in.

Fear.

I couldn't breathe. The things that had happened all came rushing back. Being pressed up like that. Being leered at like that. Seeing a reaction like that.

Fear.

You don't beg. Rule one. You don't beg, and you make them watch. You look in their eyes.

That was the hardest. You see them inside, writhing around, withered and helpless as rot and darkness swirled around them.

You look in their eyes.

And hope it ended quickly.

Then, I remembered where I was. What I'd been through.

I'd already done this once. What had I said to myself?

Never again.

"LET GO OF ME!" I shouted, leaning forward.

Again, like he'd been slapped, he did so. I flew by him and into the freedom and mercy of the cockpit. Free space. Space away from him. I turned back in a panic, but memories rushed in. All kinds of memories.

I struggled to breathe.

I was a fool.

And the voices rose to a volume I could no longer bear, and I put my hands over my ears.

"STOP IT!" I shouted, pressing my palms to my forehead. "SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

I heard a voice. Calm. Gentle. A voice unlike any I'd ever heard. If the voice had a body, it would have a hand, palm upwards, offering it to me.

Lies!

I scrunched my eyes tight quickly. I became aware how hard I was shaking and how much my skin burned with shame.

Again, the voice. Softer this time. Coaxing and warm. So totally not evil that tears finally broke the dam of my eyes.

"Go away!" I said to the voice, finally collapsing to my place on the ground.

The voice still came, and I found myself curling into a ball, knees to my chest.

The memories wouldn't stop. It was as if they were alive.

This was why I couldn't do this anymore. It hurt too much. I couldn't do it.

The voice was there. It sounded pained now, but it remained in the background. A weak part of me relaxed just a bit to check, and it jumped at this, making soft encouraging noises.

A hand went around my fingers over one ear, and it squeezed.

Something clicked. I was not there. The voices were not here. Atton was. His voice was the calm, gentle thing that had reeled me in from the darkness.

I opened my eyes. My face was buried in my knees. Then, I made a small sound and I buried my face deeper.

Where had that reaction come from? I felt so embarrassed that it hurt.

"Hey, look at me," he was saying.

Obediently, I complied, and I felt myself leaning away.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, all trace of mockery gone. "I'm sorry. Can you hear me? Can you see me? I'm sorry!"

I struggled, but I looked at him. And he nodded nervously, looking very out of place.

"I didn't mean to," he said to me, releasing my hand.

I swallowed. I had to hide this. Never show this to him again.

"I know," I said, my voice hard.

I stood shakily, brushing myself off.

"It was an instinct," he said again, head hung low.

"I know," I said again, straightening my clothes.

He didn't know what to say now, but I could see things churning in his head.

"I didn't know that you'd react like that," he said in what seemed to be an unusual display of seriousness. "If I had known, I never would have prodded you like that."

I turned away, feeling red. We could both sense my embarrassment.

"No, I should have…" I swallowed again. It was hard. "I shouldn't have reacted. I'm the one who should be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

His face twisted into itself and he looked away.

"Don't say that," he said darkly.

Silence hung in the air, and it was sticky and malignant.

"Who _are_ you?" he asked me desperately.

I cleared my throat, trying to look more confident than I was.

"I am who I've always said," I said back to him. "This kind of thing will not happen again. I'm sorry it was this way."

Unable to take it anymore, unable to look at him, unable to bear the shame of feeling prostrate before him, I retreated from the cockpit, feeling tears burn my eyes. I instinctively flew to the captain's room, the only door with a reliable lock, and I punched it in.

As soon as it was done, sobs rose out of me in waves of pain, and – even worse – I no longer possessed the clarity and peace of mind, outside of the Force, to understand why.


	10. Chapter 10

I made a point not to see Atton or Kreia for an entire day. After this, I felt calm again – or rather, calm for me – and I ventured out from that room to forage for something to eat. I hoped that we would reach Telos soon, and it was anyone's guess when we would be able to eat again after that happened.

With me, it was hard to tell which days were going to be good and which were going to be bad.

Atton emerged from the cockpit at the sound of my pattering footsteps against the cool metal, almost as if he'd been waiting for me.

I stiffened as he took me in, and, just like before, his eyes couldn't _quite_ reach my eyes in time for me not to feel flushed.

He sighed then, looking away, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Look, uh…" He let out a heavy sigh. "About before…"

"We don't have to talk about it," I said, brushing it aside.

Actually, I didn't want to. At all.

He hesitated now. He'd been expecting something different, but not this.

"If I hurt you, I'm sorry," he said.

His eyes found the wrist he'd twisted. Absently, my second hand had been rubbing it, and I dropped them both to my side.

"It's nothing at all, Atton, really."

I smiled good naturedly at him.

"I know it was just an accident," I said. "We all have instincts. Some are hard to break." I let out the tension from my chest by laughing. "I shouldn't have hit you."

He looked dumbfounded.

"I absolutely deserved it!" he said loudly, taking a few steps into the room.

"Still shouldn't have hit you," I said, shaking my head and turning to the small little kitchenette off to the side of the hallway. I leaned over into the cabinet and found a bag of milk, which I tore open and sucked on greedily.

"I, uh…" He cleared his throat uncomfortably, clearly out of place.

I knew what that was like too.

I glanced over my shoulder and all at once stopped thinking of how good the milk tasted on my dry lips. His head searched the floor for answers, and I saw that guilt had kept him awake. He looked as disheveled as he had been when I'd first found him.

I felt bad. I knew that look, standing there in the silence, incapable of understanding what was being said around you for fear it wasn't real.

"Hey, Atton, come on," I said, walking over to him. "Don't worry about it, alright? Things happen. I have…violent…reactions too. As you noticed."

We met eyes and laughed together, both sheepish but for different reasons, I was sure.

"I shouldn't have prodded you like that though," he said. "I was an ass."

I smiled over my milk, which hung suspended just below my lips.

"True," I said, before resuming guzzling for a moment. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't have held back." I shook my head at myself. "For being not a Jedi, I'm certainly a bad Jedi."

He laughed appreciatively, and I could tell this kind of humor would draw him out of his slump.

"Besides," I said, "I can't imagine being dragged into all of this has put me in your good books." My smile faded a little now. "I actually am really sorry about that."

He shrugged.

"Not your fault," was all he said, turning away to rifle through the cabinets. "What is all this junk?"

"Rations," I said plainly. "Not much left. Want some milk?"

He nodded and I handed it to him to finish.

"How do you know where everything is?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I've told you," I said. "Been on this ship before."

"This is the ship you crashed in, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "In all her glory."

"And you went fighting all the way into the jungle to find this scrap heap?"

"Hey!" I said, laughing. "It's not so bad. Kept together this far. She won't fail us yet. Besides, she's fast, and she has a particularly useful feature underneath the hood. Something a smuggler might like, but I'm sure you wouldn't be interested in that."

He stood tall now.

"Really?" he asked, flipping around.

His face assumed the features of a little boy who'd just gotten his first speeder as a surprise.

"That's amazing! Would you show it to me?"

"Sure," I said, raising my hand to beckon to him.

He followed, and I retreated further into the ship to the cargo hold. I noticed he kept a good distance away from me out of respect, and I was glad for it.

"Look," I said, pointing. "There's a false bottom over there."

He went past me delicately and found the place I indicated before lifting the hatch. He smiled victoriously.

"Wow, that's a big hold!" he said, hopping down into it.

I nodded, smiling lightly.

He leaned down into it, and his eyes looked a little sad now.

"What did you carry here?"

"All kinds of things," I said. "Mostly…" I cleared my throat. "Medical supplies or food. During the war. There were often quarantines or embargoes on restricted sectors. Apparently didn't stop this sucker." I patted the wall gently as I heard him come back up.

"What about recently?" he asked.

I shrugged.

"People," I said.

There was a silence.

"People?" he asked. "Or you?"

I would not be saddened, not that day. I'd had my fill of crying.

"Why can't they be the same?" I asked, shrugging and making my way back to the main hold. "I'm part of people."

"Not to some, you wouldn't be," he said back.

I laughed.

"That's true," I said. "Thus, the smuggling bay."

Another silence.

"You're very strange for a Jedi," he said finally.

"Look, I'm _not_ a Jedi," I said gently. "Okay? So you can lay off with the 'innocent Jedi routine.'" I laughed before taking a seat on the counter to converse with him. "Doesn't help anyone much."

"So…what does that mean?" he asked cautiously.

"What does what mean?" I asked, furrowing my brow a little.

"You being innocent."

"Oh," I said, blushing a little. "Well, I've been to your beloved Red Sector, if that's any indication."

He looked like he'd been slapped. I shouldn't have been amused, but I was.

"You've been to the Red Sector?" he found himself asking.

I couldn't hide a sound of disgust, despite my mirth.

"I've been all over that stinking planet," I said back. "All over this galaxy, in the Republic…out of the Republic."

I sighed, leaning my head back onto the cool metal cupboard behind me. I closed my eyes and rolled my head there, just resting, just feeling so…calm with it.

"What do you mean 'out of the Republic?'" he asked tentatively.

"What do you think it means?" I asked.

He was silent.

_Leave me alone_, my mind snapped viciously. _Get away from me and leave me alone! No more questions!_

But I kept this panic at bay.

He was silent with the implications of this statement, but he didn't question it again.

We both knew it meant with the Sith. Near Empire territory.

"Alright," he said, "I'm impressed. Now, I can officially say that I've found a Jedi that isn't absolutely terrible."

This wounded me, and I sat straighter.

"Seriously, what do you have against Jedi?" I asked edgily now. "I don't get it."

He shook his head.

"Don't need to, oh holy traveler of paths not walked," he said back, all guilt gone. "You and that preacher back there really _should_ make a Jedi Academy. If she can even last as long as Telos."

I sighed, feeling the bitterness again before closing my eyes.

"Look, ease off the insults, okay?" I rubbed my temples tiredly. "She _was_ wounded helping us escape, remember?"

He paused again before making a sour kind of noise. I could tell he wasn't enjoying the new direction of this conversation.

"Whoa, all right, all right! Don't get mad at me!" I said nothing. "I didn't _ask_ her to stay behind and get her hand cut off, okay?"

We sat in silence for a long time.

And my thoughts ached for being grounded like we had been just a few minutes ago, laughing and smiling. I pined for it. I needed it.

"Can I ask you some questions?" I asked tentatively.

A vicious scowl lit on his face now, and I recoiled.

"Oh, no, no, no," he snapped. "Look, I _respect_ your privacy. I mean, when have I ever asked _you_ any questions? I mean…besides _that_ one?"

I sat stiffly, feeling horrified and embarrassed. I shouldn't have said anything. I was sorry I asked.

He could tell, and his eyes looked at me with such strange emotions that I shifted a little bit so that I didn't have to look at him.

We began to talk about the astrogation charts though. I didn't know how or why, but we did, and that was relaxing.

Until we talked about the voice print.

Until we talked about _him_.

So I asked about something else. Anything else.

The assassin droids.

"No more droid, no more problem," was all Atton said.

And I kept asking him things. They seemed like normal questions to me, questions an outsider asked an insider who didn't want to help.

But I saw the life in his eyes he answered, and my feeble response to the Force granted me a little understanding. He was thrilled to be helping me this way, talking me down from my own head.

Finally, I ran out of things to ask and he ran out of things to say. It had not been a long discourse, but it was longer than I'd had in years.

Awkwardly, I put my hands on my knees and slid off the counter. I'd go lay down maybe. Get away from the stress. Try to sleep. Maybe with the duress the nightmares would stay away. Besides, I felt calm right then. Less tumultuous than I had the last time I'd retreated to my quarters, that was for sure.

As I stepped across the threshold into the hallway, I heard him speak.

"What?" I asked, retreating closer to him to hear what he said more clearly.

"What happened?" he asked.

His voice was small. Cautious.

His question rang in my head. "When have I ever asked _you_ any questions?" he'd asked.

Hypocrite.

"What are you talking about?" I asked weakly.

"Don't give me that," he said abrasively. "There were _plenty_ of times back on Peragus where a lightsaber would have been helpful. So…where's yours? What happened to you?"

"It was…taken from me," I said numbly.

"By who?"

"By the Council," I said automatically.

I'd never talked about this. It had been such a long haul since then.

"Why?" he asked pointedly, as if to brush away any suggestion that he might actually care.

I could hear that he did.

"I, uh…" I put a hand to my forehead. I felt his eyes against my body and burned with shame. This discussion had quickly turned difficult.

"I was exiled," I said to him.

These felt like extremely intimate and personal questions.

"Why?" he asked again, crossing his arms.

I flushed.

"They told me I made a mistake," was all I said.

"What kind of mistake?"

"I fought in the wars."

"And they punished you?" he asked quietly, as if in awe. "They actually _punished_ you for this?"

I faced the hallway again, unable and unwilling to meet his dark and sympathetic gaze.

"Yeah," I said, extending my hands against the screen to hold myself up. "Yeah, they…"

I heard the wavering in my voice.

"I'm sorry," I said abruptly, "I…I don't want to talk about this. I'm sorry. I can't…I…"

"Yes," he agreed, abruptly turning back to the console behind him. "Yes, of course."

He cleared his throat.

"I'm…sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He made a noise. "_Again_."

I just sighed.

"It's okay," I said. "You deserve an answer."

He said nothing, which prodded my mouth to speak.

"Exiles aren't allowed to keep their lightsabers," I said to him wearily. "So mine was taken and here we are."

He scoffed again, but a little nicer this time.

"I thought a Jedi was supposed to married to their lightsaber. Guess I heard wrong."

He hadn't.

"Were you a single hilt or one of those double-bladed Jedi?"

I thought. It was a struggle, wading through all these painful memories.

"Single," I finally said.

He made a judgmental sort of noise.

"Figures," he said.

I heard him gearing up to ask another question and stiffened.

"Wasn't red, was it?"

I stiffened at this, flipping around to face him.

"No," I snapped. "Nothing like that."

"Alright, sorry I asked!" he said, not sounding sorry. "What color was it then, princess?"

"It was unique."

"Unique how?" he asked incredulously, as if he'd seen all kinds and they all looked the same to him.

"It was silver," I offered him.

"What?"

"The crystal. It was silver. I made it myself."

He was silent.

"Must have been something," he said kindly, as if that would supplicate my discomfort.

I could tell he was impressed, and it made me a little warm.

"Would have been nice to have," he said cautiously.

"Maybe," I said quietly. "Hard to tell anymore."

"And what else happened to you?" he asked.

Now, I felt confused.

"What do you mean what else?"

"Well, you obviously have some kind of post traumatic thing going on," he said, looking me up and down.

I pursed my lips.

"I could just as easily say the same thing about you."

"Hey, easy!" he said, raising his hands in surrender. "Didn't mean anything by it. Just curious."

"I don't mean to offend you," I said back carefully. "But…it really isn't your business, and I don't really know you at all."

He leered.

"We could fix that," he said, taking a step forward. "Do you want to know me?"

I felt red and backed into the wall.

"No, I -,"

"Because I'm sure it would be _very_ invigorating," he said, taking another step forward.

He reached forward and brushed my hair out of my face. His fingers lingered for a moment before clasping onto the back of my head and neck, but not roughly.

"Don't tell me you don't find this handsome rogue incredibly attractive?" he whispered into my ear.

My hands found the wall behind me. They shook, and I was sure he felt it.

But I had to be brave.

"Please," I said, tilting my head bravely to look him squarely in the eye. His nose could have brushed against mine if he turned just a millimeter to the left, it would have collided with mine. His breath, despite being in a prison for who knew how long and then with me all of the days before, didn't smell bad. It was sweet, like the milk we just drank.

I smiled at him winningly.

"Do you think I'll always cave so easily?" I asked his lips, leaning against the wall before pushing a very stunned, very impressed Atton away.

"I'm not _that_ weak!" I said, smiling over my shoulder.

He didn't reply as I walked away, not until I was opening the door to my new room.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To rest!" I called back. "We're probably going to need it on Telos, so I suggest you get some too."

And with that, I walked out of the hallway and into the room, feeling much, _much_ better than I had before.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry (to everybody who's still with me) for the long delay. I'm a college student, so that obviously takes priority over this.**

**Though this is considerably more fun.**

**I'm sure there are some errors here or there, but I wanted to update anyway. I'll fix as I go, as I have thus far. Hope you enjoy. =)**

But the circumstances around us were quickly proving that I was, in fact, weaker than I had been in a long time. My temper was short. My emotions ran high. Tears welled constantly in my eyes, and my ability to hide it was deteriorating at a rapid pace. It was in the hours before arriving on Telos that I realized that I felt so uncomfortable because I had remained with the same people for so long. There was no place for me to hide or to run. I was being forced to endure. That was the name of the game. Endurance.

I'd once been known for it. Now, it made me itch. My whole body ached to physically separate myself from these two. The only reason I couldn't was because of the ship. Was because of Telos.

Because of my new destiny, the one Kreia had thrust on me.

Thoughts of this began to swirl around, and they festered and soiled any calmness that had accumulated with Atton's soothing voice. I was a speck in the galaxy, and the destiny it handed me asked me to hold the vacuum together with small strands of cloth.

How was a person like me supposed to do such a thing alone? I was no Jedi. I was not powerful, not exceptional. I had been, once, but now I was just a person. Just a woman.

That was why I was growing frustrated, I realized.

I was not a god. I was not a Jedi, not a symbol. I didn't want to be. I was a person. I was Nuneli. Just Nune.

People didn't understand this. I was beginning to realize that. Worse, they didn't care to understand. As I paced in my room, pent up with exhaustion but incapable of sleeping. I felt nothing but nerves. Stress.

How did a person deal with such a task? I thought of what my old Master would say. I thought of _him_. What would they do?

Take a deep breath and charge the hill, one hill at a time.

I stopped, squeezing and unsqueezing my hands, hoping to rid them of chills. This was good advice, I thought, nodding to myself. One hill at a time. Be prepared for one thing at a time.

And hope it ends quickly.

So…what was my first task, my first problem?

This was easy to answer. Being back in the public eye. I hadn't been active in Republic space in many long years. I couldn't help but to feel pain at the thought of being surrounded by voices that spoke my own language. I felt sick to think that people would see me and know me.

And talk about me to everybody they knew. That was how it would be. The Republic ship had reported me to higher – as they should, I thought, but doing so was foolish if they wanted me to actually _survive_.

Anger came then.

These people who did not understand could not possibly fathom the things I had gone through. Few could. Those who did earned my respect. Those who did not did not need me to actualize my disregard. They would throw me around in their ignorance, blatantly unaware of the fact that the name they were throwing around could very well cause my death.

The anger throbbed in me as I paced, struggling to reel it in. The Force tickled at my brain like a cough might at the back of one's throat, and I felt the purity it represented. It would not be aware of the fall, if I fell to the dark side, and I would be corrupted forever.

And so, thinking this, I took deep breaths, focusing on one thing at a time. One day, one hill, one task at a time. It could become a process of gross oversimplification. I was overwhelmed with the sensation of "too much, too soon," but that had to sit on the backburner. For now. I had to hide it.

Just like on Peragus, if hiding what I felt was what I had to do to make it through the day, hiding was what I was certainly going to do. Hiding was what I was best at, after all.

But, even with this decision, my confidence was not the highest it had ever been. I felt weak. Exhausted. Strained. I felt as if much had already been asked of me, but I could already tell by the way they both spoke of me that this was the beginning of something greater than I could possibly understand.

As such, when we began the approach to Telos station, I stood tall behind Atton's chair, just as we had before, and my grip there felt like my ballast to reality. Voices of all kinds crippled me otherwise, and it took an active concentration to drown them out and to focus at the task at hand.

I'd decided this task was to simply get through the initial leap of reentering Republic space. The introductions, the interviews, the strange, sometimes aggressive looks – all judgmental.

This would be the hardest. I would have to lie, and I had a few stories about myself already prepared from previous scenarios. I would lie, and lying to the Republic was hard. They had computers to check these things, people to eye you with distrust.

When the woman's voice hailed us on behalf of the Telos Security Force, things began to seem very real. And, for the first time in only a few days, anger became the driving force in the equation. Dangerous, emotions that billowed outwards in a torment of rage that was physically difficult to control.

I felt resentment that I had forgotten. I felt blame that even I recognized as that of bitterness, and in my logical mind, I knew that it was wrong.

But anger made it difficult to be calm, to breathe in, to charge the next hill.

I stood at the top of the ramp as the other two walked past me. The way they walked was as much a function of their personality as their voices were. Atton sauntered, Kreia marched, and I hesitated. Atton glanced back at me from the bottom, and I found myself extending my hand to the bag on my shoulder. This, like the chair had been in the cockpit, became my new crutch. My link to reality. I hoisted it higher on my back, but doing so was unnecessary. It was quite empty, but for the rock from my homeworld and the cloth from my last Jedi robes.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I took my first steps into Republic space in many years.

After this, things began to change very quickly. The first thing I noticed was Atton's attitude. He became shifty and glanced at me constantly, as if he were looking for a chance for me to look away so that he could run. This hurt, I realized, and it brought with it a new realization. Our interactions, mine and Atton's, Atton's and Kreia's, Kreia's and mine, they'd all been isolated incidents. It had been three days since our meeting, but it felt like a lifetime already.

But that didn't mean that our interactions would always be so kind or so loyal. Atton was not with me because he wanted to be. He was with me because he had to be. He was not my friend. He was someone who was thrown into the situation that _I_ was in, and I alone could lead him out of it.

That was that. I was just business.

The first time this angered me was the approach of the Lieutenant. Atton leaned over to me and spoke to me as if I'd never met another person before, as if I was too stupid to know any different. He told me not to give away the fact that Peragus had been blown up, not to "blow it."

This made me angry, and I felt all the progress of calm I had worked for in the last three days crumble somewhat. Without Atton, it was just me again. Or worse, me and the hag.

My anger grew inwards as he continued to coach me about what I should say, how I should say it. Only once did I lash out and suggest that if he thought me so incapable that _he _should be the smooth talker, and this shut him up fairly quickly.

I found myself milling outside of my ship with my companions, surrounded by people and feeling alone. I couldn't help but to reprimand myself. I should have known better than to trick myself into letting anybody in, especially someone as slippery and difficult as Atton. He obviously had some kind of past. His reaction to my slap, his deflection of his past, his insistence on talking about the fact that I was a Jedi. It had to mean something.

I'd wanted to find out what it was.

Now, if he was going to leave, it didn't matter nearly as much.

I felt the Force tug at my resolve, yank at me, as if it were a child asking for a sweet. Over and over and over and over. I grew angry with its presence. It was a child I didn't want. A responsibility I'd left behind because that was what had been asked of me.

I felt so helpless because I'd made myself helpless.

I didn't know how to proceed, and the frustration grew until I couldn't take it anymore. I waited in the gray hangar, pacing impatiently. The clanging of the metal floor beneath me echoed in the eerie stillness of the giant room, and the cold vacuum of space made me shiver.

When the Lieutenant approached, I stood at attention, confused but wary, cautiously defensive.

_They don't know who I am_, I chanted to myself. _I'm just another person landing on Telos. They know the ship, but not me_.

Automatically, I began to reestablish an alibi. I was going to be…who? Meetra Surik. Sure. That was a good enough name. Meetra. And I was from…where? Somewhere far enough away so that it would be difficult to check. Someplace that wasn't even a Republic world. Tatooine? Tatooine was the worst, and there'd be no record of me ever having been born there. I could just be an anonymous nobody from Tatooine. My father was a moisture farmer. My mother had died of…Rat Womp Fever.

It was believable. I could do it. It was possible.

And then, I noticed things I hadn't before. Like the fact that he was escorted by ten men, all with guns in hands, who looked pale faced with wide eyes. Like the fact that the man himself wouldn't look at me, almost as if he was afraid of what my presence might mean.

Or the fact that the door had locked behind him, and the docking bay window was slowly closing, as if to lock us in.

_They know_, I thought to myself. _They know _everything_. _

The Lieutenant began to read me a script. I was to be placed under house arrest.

This wasn't how I'd planned it. I'd wanted to sidle back into the stream of progress that was Republic space, not be thrown in head first into the icy stream.

_How do you know all this?_ I found myself screaming inwardly. _This isn't fair! I've hidden for so long!_

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

"This is outrageous!" I finally shouted, taking a step forward.

Surprisingly, Atton's hand grabbed my forearm to hold me back. I yanked out of his grip, but I didn't advance again.

"You don't have _any_ evidence!" I continued to shout. "You don't know who we are, and you have no right to detain us here like this!"

"You are suspects in an ongoing Republic investigation and must be detained, as protocol -,"

"Protocol?!" I shrieked. "Do you _know_ what your _protocol_ will cost you all?"

"Is that a threat?" the Lieutenant asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No, a warning, you nerf herder!" I shouted. "People are going to be following us."

"Really, people are following just you," Atton interjected, almost as if he'd said something amiable.

I shot him my most hateful look.

"Gee, thanks," I spat, making a noise to match the daggers in my eyes. "So, I'm sorry, Lieutenant, there are people after _me _that are now going to be after _him-_" I pointed at Atton "-and _you_ if you don't let us go. If you keep us here, they'll most certainly catch up. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

The entourage of security forces began to tense and twitch their fingers towards their weapons, shifting nervously on their feet.

"If you're in some kind of trouble -,"

"Not nearly like the trouble you're going to be in after all of this is over!" I shouted again, throwing up my hands. "This is ridiculous!"

The men gripped their guns tightly now.

Something dawned on me as I saw it. I took a step back.

"They know who I am…" I whispered under my breath to Atton.

"Sorry?" the Lieutenant asked abrasively.

I put my hands over my ears. I didn't want to hear his voice. I didn't want to hear the voices or the Force or Kreia's babbling or Atton's rich deep speech. I just wanted to go somewhere quiet and peaceful, somewhere isolated but not alone, involved but not integral. I wanted to go away.

"I want to go home," I whispered to myself weakly.

The sentence resonated with me.

I had not said the words in a long time because I didn't know where home was.

"Do you understand?" the Lieutenant was asking me, leaning forward now angrily.

I could barely understand him. Not that I was listening.

"What?" I asked him weakly.

"Do you _understand_?" he asked slower and louder.

It didn't help.

"How do they know who I am?" I asked Atton, eyes wide, all anger gone. "How is that possible? How is that…they must be on comm with my location, they must have...told somebody."

I felt a moment of helplessness.

"Do they want me to die?" I whispered to myself.

Atton's eyes crunched together at the edges. His dark brown eyes looked evenly at mine for a long time, seeing more than I was sure I gave him credit for. I tried to relay how helpless I felt. I tried to relay my desperation for him to stay, to have a ballast. I had a need of an anchor, and he could be that anchor. Even if he cast the blame constantly out of his court.

It would be just for a little while. Just until I felt better. It wouldn't have to be that long. I could go back to being anonymous. But I needed him for a little while.

He looked so sad, suddenly, that his normally hard lines softened, almost slouching. They collapsed in on themselves until finally he looked away from me, and I found myself looking around constantly, barely even aware.

"We understand," I finally said, feeling angry and bitter all at once.

Atton disapproved of this choice and made a sour kind of noise for it.

"Tell me I'm not going to jail again," he said, shoving by me with his shoulder so hard that I almost fell.

The anger receded again, as it always did around him, replaced by fear of repudiation and shame. Based on his tone, he'd expected me to do something else. Fight maybe.

No, couldn't do that. Too tired. Too weak. Too frightened to let it in.

The Lieutenant said something else, and before we knew it, we were all heading silently towards jail.


	12. Chapter 12

"What the hell happened back there?" Atton asked me after we were alone.

He was in a cell next to me. We were separated by electronic fields of energy, and it made me feel safe. Contained.

"What do you mean, Atton?" I asked tiredly, putting a hand to my forehead.

"You lost your temper. What was that?"

"I don't know. I just lost my temper. Is that a crime?"

"I thought it was with you Jedi princesses. Never lose your temper. Never show emotion. You pretty much blew that rule out of the water."

"Look, what do you want to hear, Atton?" I asked, standing taller and turning to face him directly. "That I was the perfect Jedi? That I shouldn't have lost my temper, that I should be calm and serene and 'there is no emotion, there is peace' on you?"

His body language scowled as much as his mouth did.

"I obviously _wasn't _the perfect Jedi! And, in case you haven't gathered yet, I haven't been a Jedi for _ten_ years! Ten!"

This seemed to silence the next snarky comment on his lips.

"Ten years?" he asked, blinking. "Is that – how old are you?"

"I was seventeen years old when I went to war," I said, putting my palms to my eyes to calm the coming tears. "Not that it matters to you."

"Seventeen?" he repeated weakly.

"Yeah," I replied, nodding. "And then when I was nineteen, I went back to the Council, and they took the Force from me. Ripped it out of me."

I wrapped my own arms around my torso, incapable of stifling a shudder.

"Whatever," I said, scowling with my eyes closed. "Just leave me alone. I don't have to explain myself to you."

"How do they know who you are?" he asked me after a few long, awkward moments.

"I don't know," I said. "But if they do, that means that some Sith sure as hell knows who I am and where I am right now. They're idiots. All of them."

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

I finally looked at him again, feeling a mixture of pity and anger.

"I…people shouldn't be around me. I was alone for a reason."

"What was that?"

"Because it isn't safe for people to be around me. I'm…wrong. People are…wrong around me. I don't know how to explain it."

Atton and I both glanced over at Kreia at the same time. I smiled weakly when I noticed this. We both saw that she was asleep, or at least appeared to be asleep. It was difficult to tell with her.

"What do you mean 'wrong?'" he asked quietly.

I felt my face paling. My knees felt weak, and I wished I didn't have to explain it to somebody as handsome as he was. I almost wished that I'd been landed with someone hideous, with a greasy beard and a fat belly, large bony hands, and two left feet.

That would have been easier.

"People die around me," I said to him. "Because I was a Jedi. They don't care who I am now."

He didn't react to this. To him, this seemed obvious, and he even blinked as if he was confused as to why I even felt the need to explain it. The familiar relief I felt around him poured over me.

"They haven't killed you yet," he finally whispered, offering me a tired smile.

Something about this made me ache inside, but it was a good ache. It was an ache to remain with him, wherever he went, just to hear him say nice things like that once in a while.

It had been so long since anybody had afforded me any kindness at all.

"No," I agreed, "not yet."

"You should use a fake name or something," he suggested to me jokingly.

Even more tension rolled off.

"Who says I don't?" I joked back teasingly.

He stood tall and turned to face me with a reluctant smile.

"Do you?" he asked me, eyes wide in surprise.

I laughed.

"Only a little bit," I conceded. "My real name is Nuneli. Ki'ili is not my second name."

"Your last name?"

"Yeah," I said vaguely, shrugging.

"Well...what is it?"

I shrugged again, purposefully ambiguous. I didn't want to discuss how wrong it was that I was using _his_ last name.

"I'm betting you'll find out," I replied good-naturedly, "but it doesn't really matter right now, does it?"

He eyed me for a moment, and the longing on his face grew in intensity for just a moment before looking away.

"So...then I guess I'll just have to call you Nel," he said.

I opened my mouth.

"What?" I said, reluctantly indignant. "No!"

"I don't know," he said, shrugging. "If I don't have a last name, and your first name, it doesn't seem like I have a choice, does it?"

I opened my mouth to reply again when a voice to our side made us both jump.

"Someone is coming," Kreia abruptly said, making both of us jump.

It was a man. He looked almost mousy, very small. His face was twisted unnaturally, scarred on one side, and his blue eyes were piercing and chilling. Cruel. He wore a TSF uniform, but he sauntered, nothing like the other soldiers who had escorted us here. He wanted to be noticed.

"That's no guard," Atton mumbled to me softly.

I nodded, and we both stood tall.

"So this is the last of the Jedi," he said with a voice that made my skin crawl. "I must admit that I'm a little disappointed."

He gave me a once over, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel shame. The anger I felt finally had a target, and I wanted it so badly to be him.

"Why don't you let me out of this cage, sweetheart?" I asked him, putting a hand on my hip. "We'll just _see_ how disappointed you are."

"Oh ho!" he said, raising his eyebrows with pleasure. "Fight. I like that."

"I bet you do," I said, narrowing my eyes. "What the hell do you want?"

"I am pledged to kill you."

"Really?" I asked, smirking. "And how do you know I'm one of these 'Jedi?'"

"Aren't you?" he asked knowingly, meeting my eyes carefully.

"Of course not," I said, shrugging casually, despite my racing heart. "My name is Meetra. I'm the daughter of a moisture farmer on Tatooine."

He eyed me for a moment before bursting out laughing.

"How charming you are!" he said. "I can see the stories the others have said about you have been true."

This wiped the smirk off my face. I knew who he spoke of. The only reputation I had anymore should have been of infamy throughout Sith space.

"I'm not the Jedi you think I am," I spat maliciously.

Atton glanced at me, I saw out of the corner of my eye, and I could tell he was surprised.

"Jedi or no, you're the one I am pledged to kill – there is no mistaking that."

He took a step forward and put a hand to the top of my energy cage. His approach physically reviled me, and the safety I'd once felt in the cage was now stifling. I realized how trapped I was.

"What a fine woman you are," he said, eyes flitting around me shiftily.

"Go away from me," I ordered angrily.

"The Exchange has a bounty on Jedi, you know."

The indignity of this was astounding. Jedi, for all their flaws, were beacons of hope for society when they wanted to be. They were benevolent gods.

"They are not things to be bartered!" I said a little louder.

"You're worth quite a bit of money," the man continued, leaning in to peer at me closer.

"You will not provoke me, murderer!" I said even louder.

He leered at me as the warmth in my face rose. He was baiting me – and baiting me _well_ too. It was hard to quell the rising anger inside of me.

"What I wouldn't pay to watch you dance…" he whispered.

"SHUT UP!" I shouted finally.

I felt something snap, some leash I'd had on my control slip away for just a moment. Power surged through me, and the lights in the room dimmed before returning to full brightness. I felt breathless as the power began to inundate me, and, like putting a lid back on a boiling pot of water, I struggled and hurt as I tried to reel it all in.

"Stop…" I whispered breathlessly. "Stop taunting me. I can't help it. Please, stop."

"I'm going to enjoy this," he said, grinning evilly.

"Hey, pal, you said you're from the Exchange?" a voice asked next to me.

It was Atton. Of course. The leash, which had fallen so forlornly to the floor of the room my control lived in, hastened to reattach itself to my willpower. I felt mildly embarrassed, but Atton seemed not to have even noticed.

The man in the room turned to face Atton.

"What about it?"

"I'm pretty sure some two-bit pistol jockey like yourself _isn't_ with the Exchange."

I glanced at the man now. His mouth had turned from that of a satisfied Gammorean to that of a womp rat whose dinner had been snatched away.

"I'm more than skilled enough to work for the Exchange," the man said testily.

Atton scowled that scowl I'd learned to hate so much.

"You bounty hunters couldn't even win a fair fight," Atton goaded. "You're the _cheapest_, most worthless mercenary scum in the galaxy. I'd hire a _Mandalorian_ over your filth in a _second_."

The insult was not lost on me, and I felt a grin spread widely and innocently on my face as he glanced between the two of us, now enraged.

"No Mandalorian could match my skills!" the man said loudly. "No _Mandalorian_ could have been clever enough to infiltrate this station, taken the identity of one of the guards, then –"

"—then what?" Atton asked, shrugging casually. "Overloaded our force cage fields and made it look like an accident?"

The man's face said it all. This had been his plan.

He looked so angry that it took everything in me not to laugh out loud.

"You probably don't even have the guts to fight me." Atton snorted. "Pathetic."

"You're wanted alive," the man said, turning away from us now, "but I doubt anyone will care as long as I bring them your _corpses_."

He made his way over the computer now, and Atton and I glanced at each other. Something in his face made me feel urgent, and the laughter died in my chest.

"We're in a TSF station," I snapped angrily. "How do you expect to get away with this?"

The man sounded satisfied all over again, and this time panic began to descend.

At least he wanted to kill the others. What would he do with me?

"The security cameras have mysteriously shorted out," the man explained conversationally. "There will be no witnesses to your escape attempt, during which I'll have been forced to kill you." He pretended to pout. "What a shame."

I scowled, crossing my arms.

"By the time the TSF realize I'm not one of them, I will be far from this place."

"Is that so?" I asked, leaning forward. "Because if you let me out, I can show you exactly what I'm going to do to make sure your body stays _right here_."

Abruptly, my force cage shorted out.

And there was nothing between him and me.

I stumbled out of the cage clumsily, remembering my legs, but I tried to harden my resolve. It had been a long time since I'd fought anybody. Close personal contact was something I avoided because of it now.

"Come on, Jedi," he said cruelly. "You wanted to fight, didn't you?"

I didn't answer, glancing around the corners of the room. Something switched on inside of my brain that my eyes could communicate, and the messages of this secret knowledge began to siphon into my understanding quickly, like an old habit coming alive again.

I saw things very rapidly, all at once, and I assessed the best means to proceed. Doing so, I looked around the incarceration room now. Behind me was a wall and a footlocker. He was between me and the door. He had a gun and a knife on his hip, and the way he stood was domineering. He would enjoy breaking me, I thought. Behind him and to his right, my left, the computer stood, waiting for just a single button to be pressed that would let out my new allies.

He was bigger and stronger. I was outgunned and outmanned. Fighting him directly would be impossible, and in order to avoid unnecessary bloodshed on my behalf, I would be forced to use means I had not accessed in some time.

I would have to channel the things inside of me until I had a better grip on my control of the Force. Until then, emotions, raw and volatile, would have to do.

This made me feel weak, not strong, small, not larger than life.

I wasn't the same person I'd been as a Jedi.

My knees shook visibly as I took a step towards the far corner of the room.

"I'm going to enjoy taking you down," the man said, ripping these jarring thoughts from me.

I constantly cooled my rage and panic, struggling to remember what it was I was supposed to do.

Fight.

I had to fight him.

Tentatively, I rose my fists to my face. I glanced at them both, as if they were foreign objects I hadn't seen in a long time.

He laughed with a sneer, and Atton inched closer to the force cage.

"Hey, leave her alone!" he said loudly. "You want a fight? Then try me, if you've got the guts!"

"Oh, but you'll be so much less fun!" the man said, walking confidently past Atton to inch ever closer to me. He extended a hand. "Come with me willingly, and you will not be harmed."

"He's lying," I whispered to myself.

It was the voice of an old friend deep inside of me that I had not met in a very long time. She was there, just as she always had been, and I was surprised to find that this friend was not withered and weak in the darkness. She approached the light resolutely, coming out bravely and with the knowledge she'd always had.

This friend was me, and I was not as lost as I'd always wanted to be. For the first time, this thought braced me.

"He's lying," I whispered to myself, stepping away as he stepped forward. "He's going to capture me, he's going to torture me, and then he's probably going to kill me." I snorted. "No, he's going to use my body and _then _he's going to kill me."

My eyes found his resolutely.

"I am a body to you," I announced to nobody in particular.

He sneered in response, extending his hand more demandingly this time.

"Your hand, girl, give me your hand. You're coming with me."

"_No_," I said pointedly, raising my hands higher but no more confidently.

The old friend inside of me was there at my back, hand comfortingly on my shoulder. She would watch, sure, but she couldn't help me. She'd been gone for too long, and that took too much to bring her back so immediately.

"So you want to fight?" the man asked.

He raised his pistol, pointed it at my lower torso, and fired.

Pain. I instantly recoiled into myself, pressing my hands instinctively to my side. They became bloody instantly, and I moaned with the sensation of feeling as if I now had a crack in the cup that was my body. Liquid, warm, sticky, and awful, spilled out of my side. My eyes blurred and I thought of nothing else. Nothing but…

Pain.

That was what this was.

It was pain all over again.

Pain and agony and anguish.

But it was isolated pain. Pain isolated from fear.

I had to fight. Even if I'd bleed to death before I managed to accomplish anything. It might not be doable, but this was a challenge from which I could not back down simply because I had no choice.

Taking a shaky breath, I gave in to my new mantra, willing my arms to push myself off the icy floor to face him once more.


	13. Chapter 13

Again, the anger came, and – again – it wasn't directed at the one person it should have been. Instead, relative to her, there were other emotions brewing, emotions I wished I could suppress simply because they were inconvenient. I worried for her. She'd been shot. That Exchange thug let her out, and he beat her in front of me after drawing a gun and firing. Something about that caused muscles in my entire body to tighten and then recoil, like a spring, ready to explode in a fit of anger at the man.

Batu Rem, the man said he was at one point. When? During the fight? Or was Batu the man he was impersonating? It didn't matter. She'd been beaten and nearly dragged out of the room.

I was reminded of how small and young she was. Despite who she may have been once, she struck me as so utterly helpless and little now. Almost as if she was a child who needed to be constantly cared for. Men were bigger and stronger, and without a buddy to rely on, I was shocked that she'd survived as much as she obviously had. She just looked so small, and her grunts of pain (she wasn't one to scream, I saw it in her eyes) only intensified as the man grappled with her resolve. He wanted her to scream and beg. He shoved his fingers into her wounds, and the noises she made ignited a fire inside of me that only came because I was a man and she was a woman.

But she wouldn't scream, and I almost wanted to think, _that's my girl_. But I didn't. Not quite.

He finally grabbed her by the hair and began to simply drag her out of the room by it, like it was scruff…

Until _it_ happened.

She lost it.

The Force, something, it exploded out of her. It was as if the pain had released this leash that had been around her neck, and without it she was an eager dog, waiting to thrash anybody who dared try to take advantage of her.

The man blew across the room with a crunch, and she was on her feet in what seemed like no time. She'd taken the man and lifted him from the ground from across the room, reaching for him as if her fingers controlled invisible hands that followed her bidding. She threw him behind her at the far wall, and the man had landed there with another crunch.

Bleeding, limping, she made her way over to the controls on the opposite wall, pressed a button, and the controls for our force cages evaporated just in time for me to scramble to the place that she was to catch her.

The security forces came in then. They had the nerve to open the door, blasters blazing, ready to attack her at a moment's notice, as if they knew she'd have exploded like this. As if she was a criminal to be kicked around and spat on.

This made me angry. Even more, it made me angry that they wouldn't listen to me when I explained what happened. It made me angry when they didn't listen to her as she tried to tell them that she didn't mean it, that it was an accident, it wasn't her fault. It made me angry that they brushed her to the side to investigate the murderer's corpse instead of helping her, bleeding and obviously quite shaken. It made me so angry that they threw us a bunch of medical supplies, supplied us with one supply droid, and shoved us away into a little apartment that locked from the outside. Trapped in a room. Again.

At least this room had beds and a large window and a refresher. This room had space and room to walk around.

I fumed as I paced back and forth, shaking my head a little every now and then, just steaming in my rage. How had I gotten mixed up with a crazy Jedi? She'd utterly destroyed that man. It was clear by the look on her face afterwards that it really had been an accident. She'd appealed to me, bleeding, eyes wide and full of guilt, trying with a desperation to explain the unexplainable.

"I didn't mean it," she'd said to me. "I didn't know I could do that! I'm sorry!"

I'd looked away, feeling angrier with the people around her than really at her.

But now, in the quiet and the still, with the old woman sitting cross legged "meditating" and Nune taking her sweet old time in the shower of the one refresher they'd given us, things began to fester for the worse.

"It was an accident," she'd told them. "I really am sorry. I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't mean to hurt him."

This made me snort, shaking my head with my furious pacing on the floor.

_Sure,_ she hadn't meant to hurt him. She'd only thrown him across the room into a wall with enough force to shatter bones. Of _course,_ that had just been she and him playing. She might as well have been tickling him. It obviously wasn't an effort to assault him or incapacitate him. What an _idiot._

What did she _think_ was going to happen? That if she used the Force, everything would be fine? It would all be alright? It never happened that way. I'd meant what I'd said the first time I met her. When there's one Jedi, the Republic will be crawling up your ion engine in no time. They would be all over us. And, worse, so would the people who were following us.

Then, she emerged from the refresher, and I found my neck snapping to attention almost like she was a general and I was her soldier. I noted this with a scowl and made a deliberate effort to slouch again when I saw the way she was dressed. Or not dressed, as it were. She was wrapped in a giant towel, giant enough to cover her naked body underneath, but when she saw me, she made a chirping noise I'd never heard out of her (that was painfully endearing and cute) and retreated back behind the door, manually sliding it partially closed.

"Don't look at me!" she cried, muffled through the door.

My insides suddenly burned at the thought of how close she was, how naked she was. If it wasn't for the old woman, I'd have gone in there right then and made her want it, even if she didn't know that she did yet. Nobody could resist me. I was sure of it. I saw the yearning in her eyes as much as I was sure she noticed that some of my flirtation was new territory for me.

We could break, cave, meet in the middle. It was doable.

Maybe, if I went into the refresher, I could make myself forget what she was. After all, it had taken a significant amount of duress for the Force to explode out of her. Something inside of me made me want to make sure she was recovered from this. She deserved to be…taken care of, after all. I could do that. I could do that for her, no sweat.

And maybe I could forget who _I_ was too in the process, drowning in her so much that I lost myself.

"Are you looking?" she asked with an almost childlike tone.

"Well, I'll certainly try to when you come back out!" I called back, smirking.

Her head reemerged again now, this time indignant, and she scowled at me.

"Then hand me the clothes there," she snapped. "I forgot them."

"I don't know, gorgeous," I said back, feeling the warmth explode out of me at the mere thought of seeing her again like that. "You might have to ask a little nicer."

"Atton, I…"

She made an indignant sort of noise, and, despite myself, a real laugh came out. A real laugh. The warmth spread as a reluctant smile burst onto those wide lips, and her bare arm extended out around her dripping hair.

"Atton, please, come on!"

Her shoulder was exposed, along with her collarbone and a thin sliver of her hip, covered by the towel, and whatever I might have said after this faded into this choked feeling that settled desperately in my throat. Wordlessly now, struggling to keep from forcing my way into the refresher and taking her sweet lips that could cause laughter to bubble out of me, I handed her the mass of clothes that had been on the bed, feeling terribly…out of place. Something unfamiliar and warm and itchy made my hand wince away when her fingers brushed it, and I was grateful to be alone in the silence once more.

I felt suddenly breathless and terrified, like if her hands touched me they'd somehow have the power to read all that those hands had done. I found myself looking at them, feeling that warmth drain away into bitterness.

She was sweet, all things considered. She was sweet and kind – to a fault, it would seem. She put up with me still, despite all I'd done, and, even at my expressed desire to ditch her, she bantered with me and put up with it, stowing it away like it didn't hurt her. When I knew it did. Why did I do that? Did I want her to be unhappy?

She reemerged before I could address this question, and I found that the choked feeling hadn't receded.

"Thank you, Mr. Rand," she said, yawning weakly.

She didn't meet my eyes now, and I saw that the brief respite of the tension we'd had was gone once more, obliterated with the memories of what we'd both seen her do.

"How did you do that?" I finally asked her.

She stood stock still before going over to a bed. She shook, and dark bags under her eyes made her young, now-clean face look a little dead – like the woman from the holo who'd looked so lost and broken.

"I don't know," she finally whispered, looking up at me honestly.

Her palms were upwards, and tears brimmed into her eyes.

"I really didn't mean to hurt him," she said, bringing her palms to wrap around her torso, as if to protect herself. "I'm…sorry."

This floored me.

"Why are you apologizing to me?"

"You didn't ask for this," she whispered to me, more tears falling in shiny lines down her face.

"Wait…neither did you."

She shrugged, obviously trying to stop the tears from falling. The sight of it hurt that budding warmth that had receded at the vision of her bare flesh, and the sweetness I'd seen in her made me want to be sweet back. But I didn't know how to be. That made me angry with myself.

"This is what happens when the Force comes back," she said, suddenly sounding viciously defensive. "They must have taken it from me for a reason. I – this is wrong! This is so wrong!"

I took a step forward and then stopped myself. What had I wanted? To grab her, cover her mouth and body with small kisses, covet her skin with hands that shouldn't touch any other woman, to hold her with an aching desperation that was dwarfed only by her need to be held. I yearned for her and found myself envious of any man who'd had the luxury.

If there was any other man.

_No_, I found myself thinking. _Not my business_.

Besides, I couldn't be with her. Then, thinking this, I rebuked my own desires. I couldn't do that. Why would I want to? She was just a stranger I'd met under mysterious circumstances. We were kind of almost friends, yeah, and that made her so totally off limits that I shouldn't even notice how beautiful she was.

"I've fracked this up so bad," she said, looking to the ceiling and lying back on the bed. "I shouldn't be here. I'm not special."

An unstoppable noise of disbelief emerged from my mouth, and she just closed her eyes, flinging her arms over her head tiredly.

It revealed every perfect curve in her body, enunciated by the way she laid up against the pillow, and it seemed almost as if an angel had come to where she'd been laying and posed just for me to swallow her up with my eyes. I was struck by the sensation that I had never seen anything as beautiful as she was right in those moments, despite the tears, the bitterness, the messy hair, the strange-hand-me-down clothing. There was nothing more beautiful than she was.

The sensation drowned me a little bit, and I tried to look away, but I was so mesmerized with the feeling that I wanted to give in to it. How was it possible for somebody like me to feel so good again? How could she possibly be making me feel this way?

Then, she shifted, curled into a ball, and whispered, "I'm really sorry for meeting you, Atton."

This struck me as kind of insulting.

"Gee, thanks," I snapped.

Weakly, she made a noise similar to a whimper.

"Not like that," she said. "I'm glad I met you."

"Then what did you mean, princess?" I asked, but the words weren't as petulant as they could have been.

"I mean, I'm just sorry you had to meet me."

She rolled over now, leaving me standing there, unsure of what to say or how to say it, what I was feeling or why I was feeling it. I just stood still, feeling strange empathy that had never taken hold of me. Again, the feeling drowned me, and I didn't know what to do. It hurt, I realized, and that made me angry. So furious. Who was _she_ to try to make me feel that way? Who was _she_ to put me in that place? Who was _she_ to make all these things come bubbling out of me in a torrent of anguish?

I was a smuggler, a thief, and a liar. She was pure. The more I spent time with her, the more I saw it. She was something that was so unfiltered and rare and good that even bad things could not taint it. She had no right to try to worm her way into me the way she was.

Scowling, I stomped into the refresher, waited for the door to the close, and thoughts of her perfect image, splayed lazily at perfect angles, took me. Even when I closed my eyes, she was there, and the scowl deepened. I pressed my palms to my eyes, wondering what would make it go away, feeling so irrationally angry with her that I wanted to scream out.

What were my options?

Get in bed with her. Go back outside and climb on top of her, give her what she deserved, what she ached for. What _I_ ached for.

Intimacy.

No, couldn't do that. The hag was there.

Kiss her?

Maybe, but it would be hard to stop. And she'd throw me off of her, just like Batu Rem. And suddenly, that rejection mattered to me more than even I could have anticipated.

No, couldn't risk that. I'd stick to harmless advances and flirtations for now. Safer this way.

So what was there to do?

Hurt her?

Something evil and small inside of me rose up to laugh at this, satisfied that this was even an option on my agenda.

_Yes_, it said, _you want to cut her. Make her beg_.

_No_! I thought to myself, suddenly feeling breathless.

I took my palms from my eyes and shook my head, as if it would rid me of that evil voice that I knew would be there.

"Stop it…" I whispered to myself.

But, again, pure and intoxicating, her small body came crawling back into my mind like the worm I'd come to know her for. Worm her way in. Slowly but surely.

How did she do that?

I turned the nozzle to the shower as the aching grew inside of me for some kind of release of this mounting pressure inside for me to kiss her, brush past her, squeeze her, do something. Her figure, lying so helplessly in that bed, was burned in my mind. Groaning, and with the knowledge that despite my exhaustion I'd likely not be sleeping, I forced myself to make myself clean.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Sorry followers! I'm trying my best. After college and a wrist injury, going is slow. However, just know that I _will_ _not_ abandon this story. It isn't in me to leave things unfinished.**** Just fyi!**

P.S. Thanks to yuuka-hanamaya, Dominique Sotto for your reviews! Your support makes me feel welcome as a newbie on Fanfiction!

* * *

><p>It'd been three days since we'd learned our ship had been stolen, and, despite everyone wanting to meet her, nobody was available <em>right now<em>. We were sitting, waiting, and the anger and resentment I felt began to fester. But it was not at her. Not really. It should've been, maybe, but it wasn't. No, instead, I felt angry with the Republic. I felt angry that they treated her so poorly. I felt angry that they knew more about her than I did.

Insecurities and inadequacies tugged at my ability to cope with this gem of information. She wasn't half bad, and if I didn't know any better I would reach the conclusion that she and I were quickly becoming friends. Companions. Allies.

The irony made me feel bitter.

Despite this, I felt strange loyalty to her. I found myself wanting to take care of her. But it wasn't even because I was attracted to her. Which I was. Gods, I was. More than I had been to anybody in a long time, maybe even more than I ever had with any other woman.

No, I wanted to stick with her because I found her very…sad. She was like a little helpless baby, and it was almost irritating. She could handle herself in a fight, but even for my standards I recognized that she was dysfunctional.

And I knew a _lot_ about being dysfunctional.

Still, past this irritation, I felt companionship with her in a way that I had not since before the war. I found myself beginning to like her, which really was very inconvenient considering the fact that I would have to run away from her the second I got a chance. In fact, I found myself dwelling on her in more than just erotic ways. I wondered about her military experience. I wondered about her childhood. I wondered about her homeworld, what her parents were like if she could remember. And, most of all, I wondered about her and Revan.

One of the first things that she had said to me had been about her mastery over Revan.

That had to be a good bar story. But thinking of bars made me think of being alone, and this train of thought was constantly reminding me of my duty to her.

I had to leave her behind and never come back. I'd already been around her for too long, and I was afraid that prolonged exposure would damn us both. I found myself wanting to preserve her. I felt dirty when she came near, and that made me ache in a way that I had not in many years. But it wasn't her doing. In fact, she was beginning to lose that frightened looked that had plagued her eyes every time she turned around and saw that I was still there.

The way she looked at me made me strangely proud.

And that felt _good_.

But, I wasn't nearly good enough to have the right to look after her. I would need to leave. And I would leave. It was not a question of if, but instead the question of when. I was bad, and even a bad person who followed a good person around to do good things was still a bad person. I didn't want that to follow her too.

On the fifteenth day after she'd tumbled into my prison on Peragus, after too much build up and not enough release, I couldn't take this thought anymore. She left with the old bitch for something or other and I flew into a rage. I punched the wall, threw everything off my bed, yelled out her name in fury.

Then, a moment passed and I just stood there, breathing heavily, aching like a lost child, thoughts of her consuming me. I found myself aroused but also ashamed, and I ignored it until I was able to will it away. When that was done, I cleaned the place until it was spotless.

She walked in after a while and met my eyes. The warmth that spread to my limbs was immediate, even after she narrowed her eyes shrewdly at the newly clean surroundings. She either didn't notice or said nothing. I suspected she did and chose silence. I was grateful.

The Queen of Cryptic entered next, and her silence was not nearly as generous. Her eyes narrowed coldly, as if to peer deeper into me, and I felt the cold, grimy, slithery thing that she was underneath her physical form. I threw up all the familiar walls, but when she turned away to "meditate," she kind of smirked. _She_ was the second kind of Jedi. So much Force that anybody who had anything to hide might as well spill the rations out.

And, more and more, I knew I could never do that. Not in front of Nune. I found myself preferring that she die or I did before she knew the truth about me.

Because she already had enough to deal with. Post-traumatic stress was a bitch, and I'd seen it and felt it too many times not to recognize that the first war had been bad enough. She wouldn't have even survived through the second war. I was sure of it.

I found myself glad that she'd disappeared during that time. Every single time I thought it, I felt relief. I really did like her, after all. She seemed like…a real person. She wasn't some goddess or anything. She was almost like me. Only better.

She was quiet and frightened and helpless, with an ass any mother would have been proud of. Kind of a bimbo sometimes. But she didn't deserve to have done to her what I did to so many others. I was glad she was a master of running and moving quietly. If she wasn't a Jedi, she would have made one hell of a scout or smuggler.

Then again, maybe she had been one. She'd been gone for ten years, she said. Long time to be away from everything and everyone. Plenty of practice to hide.

Maybe that was why she was so jumpy. She couldn't hide if she was the center of attention.

Which, of course, she was. It was hard not to notice just…something about her. Something that seemed small when we'd met but that was now growing every day. It made her more beautiful. Even just walking down the streets caused people to look at her body, and that was an entirely different attention I'd already recognized made her upset. It made me feel jealous and possessive.

Which was very strange.

I was inherently jealous and possessive by nature, but it had been a long time since I had invested enough in somebody to feel like they were mine. And I did feel like that with Nel. I had begun to call her that just so that I could say that it was my nickname for her, and mine alone.

It was almost like I had stumbled upon a buried treasure that everybody wanted a piece of. But I found it first, and I wanted to keep it, even if I knew I couldn't keep her for long, even if I knew she wouldn't want me if she knew who I really was.

Or rather, who I really had been. I was not the same man that I had been. Something about her encouraged this small hope. Despite her…"bimbosity."

But…

I knew I shouldn't really think of her that way. She was a lot of things, but she wasn't a fool. She saw a lot. Probably more than I gave her credit for. She also showed flashes of promise, of past capability. It was almost like she was hiding and was afraid to come out. I just wished that she would. If she opened up a little bit more, it would be a lot easier to leave her.

Wondering what she was really like would haunt me for a long time.

Thinking all this had become compulsory because of how quiet she was, but that was hard because – before her – I had tried not to think like this. Mostly, if I was alone with her, I might as well have just been by myself. And so, when she stopped to peer out a large window one day, I nearly ran into her.

Like always, this sent the man in me into a feverish frenzy.

She'd purchased new clothes at the store for herself. They were formfitting, and they made her look beautiful. Her leggings were long, black, and she bought boots that looked like she could move quietly in them. Her shirt, loose and hanging over her shoulder, was a simple tan color. Typical Jedi color.

But it revealed the cloth that covered her breasts from nearly every angle. The cloth was really an undershirt, but clung to her in all the ways that I wanted my hands to. It was a green color. I was beginning to like green.

Mulling this over finally became too much for my resolve to handle, and I whispered her name into her ear, hoping the sound of my voice would shut out my head.

"Hey," I whispered.

She jumped, flipping around. Her eyes widened at my proximity, and I stepped back again guiltily.

"Let's go in, huh?" I asked with a smirk that revealed none of my inner monologue.

I nodded at the shimmery doors of the establishment that I meant. It was across the hall, and people were gathered around outside. And when the door slid open, I saw how many people were inside, cramped together almost as if their continued existence depended upon the vices that would surely be fed there. It was where my kind of people lived. And where people like Nel, I was sure, tried to avoid at all costs.

Suddenly, I wanted that. The idea grew from an impulsive suggestion to a craving. Something about alcohol made people looser. I wanted her to be loose. In more ways than one.

With newfound determination, I decided that she and I were going to go into the cantina, even if I had to drag her in myself.

"Into the cantina?" she repeated dumbly after a while, eyeing it with what I interpreted as disdain.

I couldn't hide a smirk. Her accent bled through her voice, and I found myself wanting her to say it again. She said nothing more though, and she pursed her wide lips.

"Yeah," I said encouragingly. "You know? A place where people go to gather and drink?"

"No, I _know_ what it is!" she said, irritated.

"Oh, sorry, I guess it was the blank look of confusion that came over your face that confused me," I quipped with just a hint of sourness.

She just folded her arms and turned back to the cold window.

"We're just waiting around looking out windows in silence," I continued, "and I think it would be more fun than pacing up and down crowded hallways. Let's face it, we both need a stiff drink."

A beautiful Twi'ilek woman with bright blue skin and a gold headpiece that hugged her forehead sauntered by us both, and I felt heat well up inside of me. She turned her neck seductively and bit her lip when I met her eyes. They were gold, and they twinkled in the low light. She raised long, thin fingers to wave.

"And, if we're lucky, maybe we'll both get laid!" I added, my eyes on the Twi'ilek woman until she disappeared inside with the flick of her lekku. For some reason, this suggestion made me feel nervous around Nel. I decided to glance sidelong at her. She'd stiffened at the suggestion.

I ignored this.

"Come on, gorgeous," I said. "You and me both know that you need to get laid."

She made a sour noise now, and I found my smile broadening at her reluctance.

"I do not need to…" She began loudly, but then she seemed to realize what she was saying, and a subtle flush crept up her cheeks. She leaned in now, as if to whisper a scandal to me, and I found my smile broadening. "… to get _laid_," she finally finished.

"Really? Then why so tense?"

The look she gave me next caused a bubble of laughter too well out of my mouth. She looked so indignant.

"You know why I'm tense, Rand."

"Okay, okay, but can't you just take a break for a second?"

She hesitated now, biting her lip. She turned towards the place. It was called "Easy's." Her intense gaze surveyed the doors of the cantina, as if when she looked away it would reach out and swallow her up. She looked genuinely uncomfortable.

But again, I ignored this.

"What's the worst that could happen?" I suggested.

She winced, and I knew I'd said the wrong thing. The pain that had begun to swirl from my chest at the distress in her eyes reminded me that it was still here, despite my selfish desires to force them out of her with alcohol.

"Don't say that," she chided plaintively after a moment.

We met eyes but the plea there made me look away guiltily.

"The only reason I am alive because I avoided places like _that_," she finally admitted quietly.

"You never had any fun?"

"Of course I did," she argued, crossing her arms so that her baggy shirt gathered, revealing her bare midriff. "But not with vices or relaxants or spice."

This surprised me.

"Then how did you forget the war?" I asked, almost without meaning to.

Again, we both winced.

"I just didn't," she said weakly, shrugging.

She looked pointedly away, but I just stared.

I couldn't _imagine _carrying that pain that was obviously there for so long.

"So…no sex, no drugs, no booze?" I asked incredulously. "Almost seems impossible."

"You assume an awful lot," she said again.

Now, I pursed my lips, my eyes roaming over her form. She clung to herself harder, causing her giant shirt to gather. It left more of her skin exposed. I found my eyes straying to where the shirt parted, and suddenly I wanted to drag her in just to fill her up with alcohol.

I needed a chance to take her home. Consequences be damned. I wanted to be selfish. If I was leaving anyway, and we weren't going to be friends, I might as well leave with a _bang_.

I smirked as she began to reprimand me.

"It isn't your business who I'm with or what I do or who I do it with," she said, but not forcefully.

She was just…_shy_?

I smirked.

I could handle shy. This was a game I knew well. Coaxing beautiful women into cantinas was something of a hobby of mine in times past, whether they were shy or emotionally inaccessible.

_I can do this_, the smarmy part of myself told my hesitant side. _This is what we both need._

When I looked at her again, I realized that she had been talking about her past, and I kicked myself for being so lost in my own skin that I hadn't been listening.

It only motivated me more to bring her inside so that I could take advantage of her.

"Come on," I said with a little more force, reaching out with my hands before I remembered again that I should not touch her. "Don't tell me you don't approve of cantinas. It might break my heart, princess."

"I'm not a princess," she said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Could have fooled me," I said, prodding at her like I always did, but this time with a gentler stick.

She opened her mouth indignantly but no noise came out. Instead, a weak smile split from her face like a groundquake, and, even if I didn't get her to come with me, I felt victorious because of that.

But I was a voracious hunter, and I would not give up so easily. I felt my smirk transform into something predatory. She saw it too. I saw it in her eyes, but I ignored the red flags they were waving. Instead, I found myself stiffening with anticipation of the dark and intoxicating hours to come. After all, sexual frustration was putting it lightly. I found it hard to even focus on not focusing on her.

I opened my mouth to renew my campaign to get her inside, but what she said next surprised me.

"If you want to go by yourself," she said, not unkindly, "don't let me keep you."

_But I don't want to go by myself, _I thought_. I want to go with you._

Getting her drunk, getting her talking, and then getting her home before sneaking out was like killing multiple birds with one stone.

But her resistance was starting to grate at me.

"You don't want to go with me?" I asked edgily.

"No, I'm just not a big fan of…"

She trailed off, and to my ears it sounded like a lame excuse.

"What? I'm not good enough company for you?"

I found myself scowling. The thought ruined my mood. We both knew it was true, but it hurt me when I dangled the thought from her. What was worse, she didn't immediately correct me. She opened her mouth several times, but finished by closing it, shaking her head at me a little pathetically, as if she didn't know what to say.

It made me feel dirty.

I walked past her angrily.

"Just forget it," I muttered, hating myself.

I also felt foolish – sexually and emotionally exhausted.

I was likely coming across as a little desperate. Maybe that was because I was desperate.

It didn't make me feel better.

"It's not that," she suggested, walking after me.

"Could have fooled me," I said again, beginning to walk faster. "Next time you pass judgment, give me the decency of telling it to my face!"

She moved in front of me now. I tried to move around her, but she put her hands on my arm to stop me. Her soft lines had hardened, and the authority in her eyes was not lost on me. Static also seemed to crackle at the place where her fingers touched, and I felt my heart begin to race in that weak way that was unfortunately becoming familiar.

"Hey!" she said loudly enough so that other people walking by us glanced at her and I. "I never said that you weren't good enough for me! You came up with that all on your own!"

I tried to roll my eyes and look away from her, but she removed her hand on my arm and put it on my cheek to prevent me from looking away.

"You don't _get_ to put words in my mouth," she snapped at me.

Any bitterness I might have felt had been drummed out at the presence of that hand, and I hesitated. I felt the need to swallow but also a sensation that made it difficult to do so.

"You hear me?" she pressed.

Still, I couldn't move. My thoughts felt cloudy. I had never been affected that way before. I began to wonder if it was some Force trick, but she removed her hand after she noticed that it was the cause for my hesitation and looked away.

As she turned, I saw that she felt sad.

I'd begun to notice that. Tears came at any conflict, not out of hurt.

She was so helpless that I had to walk on egg shells.

"Come on," I said was just a pinch of guilt. "You're right. I was putting words in your mouth, and I'm sorry." Like it always did, my mouth took over. "But how else am I supposed to figure out what you think? You don't really talk much."

She said nothing but stood tall at this. I moved around to face her, but she turned away again. But not before I saw that she was fighting tears.

I suddenly felt awful, and that pity emerged like it always did when I realized how helpless she was.

"Hey, hey, hey," I tried uncomfortably. "Don't do that. You don't have to cry about it."

I heard her make some kind of confirming noise, as if she was trying to comply but could not.

"You don't have to talk me down," she finally managed. "I'm not a child. I have to stop acting like it."

"Come on," I said, feeling worse by the second. "You're not acting like a kid. You're probably the most responsible out of the three of us."

She snorted appreciatively at this, and a reluctant smile came to her face again. That glorious thankful look in her eyes shaded the brown colors there, bringing with it the good feeling again.

"That's probably not saying much, is it?" she asked wearily.

"Probably not, no," I said with another uncomfortable smile.

She let out a heavy sigh and peered at me in a way that reminded me of Kreia. It was pensive, but also analytical, as if when our eyes met she knew what I was thinking and when I was thinking it. The only difference between her and the old hag with that her presence was almost soothing. If the two of them were a pair of hands, Kreia would've been the hands of a farmer or miner – rough, calloused, insensitive, and dangerous. She would use her hands to rip open my skull and scoop things out with sharpened claws.

Nel would have been the hands of a healer – smooth, supplicating, gentle, soft, warm.

She was all the things that I could see that she needed.

I just wished I knew how to reciprocate.

"I wish I would stop crying," she said weakly.

She glanced up at me sheepishly.

"I'm sorry. I don't…I'm not used to this. Talking. I'm not actually upset."

"I know," my mouth provided after a while.

"I need to grow a spine," she said, putting her hands on her back tiredly.

I wanted to tell her I already recognized her as extraordinarily brave, but I found it hard to think or move, being so close to her.

But then, abruptly, she crossed the hall to stand just out of the way of the door. "Easy's" was on the other side.

Excitement churned in me as I went to stand next to her, and the victorious feeling reemerged.

Then, I looked at her.

Her dark eyes were wide, but she didn't look at me. Instead, she seemed as if she was peering into the in-between. Her mouth was taut, and if I didn't see that her knees were so weak, she would have been almost totally still.

I recognized the look on her face instantly.

And I was pressuring her into feeling that way.

I was a dick.

"Hey," I began with that same soothing, comforting voice that kept emerging whenever she got like this.

So strange that I was trying so hard to smooth over things for a Jedi.

"Don't be upset," I urged with a hint of desperation. "Let's just…we don't have to –"

"I'm not upset," she said emotionlessly, her eyes still caught in the in-between.

And wherever that was, it was scary. Just like before, I wanted to yank her from it.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she asked me eventually.

Her own voice startled her into the present.

"I'm not sure you want to, princess," I said quietly, retreating at the implications of having her confidence.

"Loud noises bother me," she explained, almost as if she couldn't hear me.

I stood tall and the motion caused her to look at me.

"Loud noises and crowds. And dark, small places with no windows."

She laughed sheepishly.

"I know that's dumb, but I just…"

"Why not?" I finally managed to ask.

"Because it reminds me of war," she said simply, and she made a point not to look at me this time.

To this, I had no reply. But I was not foolish enough to try to coax her in again. In fact, that small balloon of respect that I felt for her inflated just a little bit more. Empathy and sadness filled me to the brim, and I shifted on the balls of my feet nervously, wishing I had something witty or slimy to say to make it all better again. To make it like it was with any other woman: shallow and meaningless and ultimately unsatisfying. I filled the ears of sluts and whores with bad jokes and a conveniently handsome smirk.

But I didn't have anything like that now. Not for something like this. Not for someone like her.

Because it was how I felt. I hated cantinas and alcohol and vices and the unscrupulous community that surrounded them. I forced myself to endure it out of some kind of twisted self-loathing. The fact that she staved off this hatred for herself proved to me that she was a lot tougher than I thought.

"Not dumb," I whispered, finally tugging gently at her elbow.

She only flinched a little but she looked at me with so much guilt. I couldn't stand it. She thought she was ruining my fun.

I was a dick.

I looked away, whispering,

"It's not dumb," a little firmer. "Let's just…" I sighed. "Let's just get to bed."

The walk back to the room was silent.


	15. Chapter 15

Time passed as I became accustomed to people vying for my attention. First, it was the Republic. Now, it almost seemed like it was everyone else. This was more than a little frustrating considering the fact that I knew nothing of solutions.

And yet, I became a woman of many for a great many people. A solutions person. Something eerily - and a little ironically - very close to a Jedi. Even Atton seemed to come to me for advice. For small and meaningless things, admittedly, like which shirt was best or which dish to order. Sometimes, I thought he just did it to mock me.

He and I had been at odds ever since I had agreed to help Chodo Habat in the week prior. He wanted money and recognition, everything Czerka offered. Glory and cheap credits. Dirty money. When I'd refused, he might as well have spat at me, so cruel were his words.

And that time I had gone into the refresher to cry. Hurt ached inside of me for a long time after too, like the echo of a headache that hadn't happened yet. I remembered his perfectly designed sneer, the curve of his mouth as it twisted into itself. That mouth that I'd more than once been drawn to was contorted as poisonous slanders had assaulted my ears.

"Typical for a stupid Jedi princess to pass up on the easiest way off this rock."

For the millionth time in less than the month I'd known him in, I reevaluated his ability - and, more disturbingly, his (somewhat) fiendishly wicked delight - in causing me pain. Only a bad man could understand how to manipulate that effectively so as to twist me around myself like that.

I was beginning to understand this act. It had come full circle, and I felt about him now how I had at our first meeting. This was nothing new. Nothing special. It was just an act to prevent me from seeing the man beneath.

Which was the height of hypocrisy. He demanded to understand my past and still filled my ears with lies or refused to answer my questions.

This was a habit I saw many different people practice. How did these people _live_ with themselves, lying and cheating so prolifically? How did they _sleep_ at night? They were the worst kind of scum. They asked you to do the dirty work they didn't have the stomach to do.

And I was getting asked more and more.

Now, resentment brewed inside of me for Atton and for the galaxy at large.

How did they think I had survived all this time? By studying in a library? By practicing diplomacy? By offering answers?

No, I had survived because I was good at hiding. Instead of long term solutions for problems I'd drown in later, I'd simply find different numbers to tweak the equation with. Most times, that meant removing myself and leaving. It didn't involve waiting patiently for answers, waiting for thugs and criminals to get their acts together. It involved movement. Movement was life.

And my life had become strangely stagnant after all the commotion on Peragus. Which made things hard. I couldn't do the math without all the numbers.

And yet the fools who chose to surround themselves with me asked me to. It was borderline idiocy. What answers could I possibly have to offer? I could gamble and guess, sure, there was a lot of that. But did I know the answers? Really, _really_ know them? No. Of course I didn't.

And something about blind faith in the willingness of others to help something as small and filthy as me was just not something I could accept. I'd survived by never betting on something that wasn't a sure thing.

All this and more churned in my head as we waited for Chodo, Atton and I. He'd scoffed at the mere suggestion of going with me, but when Kreia had refused also, Atton caved.

And so, we waited in the room in silence, the only humans in the immediate vicinity. Only the now familiar hum of the station was there in the background, and like it always did it riled me into a bad mood.

"Tell me, sweets, why am I here again?" Atton asked in his drawling voice.

"I didn't ask you to come," I snapped back with unusual spite. "Go home if you don't want to be here."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" he asked, sourly now.

He'd turned to face me, and I could tell my bad tone was an affront to his bad attitude.

"It is a place where we sleep," I snapped exasperatedly. "Pick my words apart if you want, but for right now, that's our home."

"No, that's the place we sleep. Big difference."

"Not if you don't have a home anymore."

"But you do. I'm sure your precious Order would take you back in a second. You sure are fitting the bill."

"That is not my home," I said with an edge in my voice that felt sharper by the second.

"Sure it isn't."

"It's not."

"Whatever you say."

"Whatever, Atton. What would you know about it, anyway? About going home? Where would that be for you exactly? The slums of Nar Shadaa?"

He pursed his lips and looked away, but the look in his eyes at the last moment revealed to me...fear?

I was closer to the mark than he'd have me believe.

The fear quickly turned to anger.

"Are you digging in my head?" he asked, snarling.

"What? No!" I yelled indignantly. "I don't know how to do that anymore!"

"You're such a fracking liar," he spat, rolling his eyes.

"It was just a good guess, that's all!"

"Jedi don't guess, princess."

"Atton!" I shouted. "I am _not_ a Jedi! And I'm sure as hell not a princess!"

He snorted.

"Only a Jedi would consider this hell-hole to be a 'home.'"

"Home is the next place you go to sleep where you don't get shot."

I saw the look in his eyes. That softer, human look. It made me very sad.

"Look..." I sighed, covering my forehead. "I know you think I'm stupid. And I'm no fun. And I drag you down. I get it, I get it. But this is how I am now. Deal with it or don't, Atton. You either want to get out of this with me or dragging behind me at my ankles. You'll do it or you won't."

I hugged myself.

"Besides, I'm not..." I thought of that perfectly orchestrated sneer. "I'm not dumb. I am..." I felt my resolve harden. "I'm pretty capable, Atton. Lay off."

He stiffened at this.

"What?" he asked softly to the far wall.

"You could be a little nicer."

He just made an acknowledging sound. This would have been alright enough for me had the humming not gotten into the thick of the voices that I'd quelled for about a week. They emerged at the mere suggestion of home, so many friends there I'd lost.

Suddenly, I realized what I was defending - what I was allowing him to make me feel.

It was wrong in so many ways. Already, he'd wormed his way into me, and I wanted him to think well of me. I thought he did. The glimpses of hope in between sneers or smirks. But it was hard to doubt. I hadn't been invested in someone like that in a long time.

And the last person who I had been was likely long dead, recycled multiple times in the life cycles of far off interstellar fauna. And even they were surely gentler than Atton.

This came bubbling out of me, and I couldn't stop it.

"You're an asshole," I finally snapped into the silence, standing.

He made an amused kind of sound that I readily understood to be a staving mechanism to put off anger. The only reason I recognized it was because I did the same thing. Anger was sloppy, easy to read and easier to take advantage of. At the beginning, it was how I'd prevented the nothingness of the void where the Force had once been from taking over.

Life was all about hiding. First, side to side. Then, back and forth. Now, hiding the hidden, untapped power inside of me from being seized by the living animal known as fury.

But Atton made it hard, and I just repeated my statement.

"Gee, what a nice thing to say," he said back.

"I'm just doing the best I can."

He scoffed.

"It isn't enough," he explained.

With a condescension that sent me into a rage.

"Don't you think I know that?" I shouted. "Don't you _know_ how _hard_ this is for me?"

Unusually, he didn't back down. That angry gleam entered his eyes and he just sneered that sneer as he advanced on my now pacing form.

"Do you think it really matters to anybody that you aren't ready for this? Nobody gives a shit who lives or who dies. In the end, it's all about what you have. How you've prepared." He motioned around the room unnecessarily. I wished I could look there instead of into his eyes, but I couldn't look away. "You chose this shit over credits and friends in high places." He clapped his hands together. "Well. Good for you. You took the high road. Isn't that just precious?"

"Is that what you think this is?" I asked, just blinking. "That this is the high road?"

"Isn't it?" he asked coolly.

His lack of insight surprised me. I thought that it had been obvious why I preferred Chodo over Czerka.

I chose it for me.

Because I was acting out of selfish fear, desperate to funnel some of the pain outwards or away. The very fabric of the Force was a wound now.

It hurt every minute of every day.

I felt myself, felt all that I was. I felt all of the pain and all of the voices rise to a tipping point in a moment of overwhelming noise. The hum of the station itself became deafening, and in a way Chodo was teaching to me again, I felt myself open. I was like a rotted fruit. Outwardly normal. The inside...decay and death.

I felt Atton's presence, a now familiar thing, reach into the Force subconsciously to greet what I was doing. He was all defense and walls and indignation.

I felt him recoil both physically and mentally when I did not retreat. But I did not pursue him. Like a trap, I extended a proverbial hand to entice his being, offering with it a glimpse of what I endured. Of the fundamental dysfunction. Like a child, unaware and yet conscious, he looked. How could he not? I was such a rare and strange thing to him that passing up an opportunity was beyond his capacity.

Then, suddenly, he felt it. The void. The maw that was most certainly there. The ache. I'd come to recognize it as voices of people I'd lost. At the beginning of the war, it was just one friend or two. A soldier or a civilian on a ravaged world that was running for cover. Now, it was a misdirected cacophony of anguish - tinted with just a hint too much of rage. It was the voices of everybody I'd ever known.

Gone now.

I allowed him only the surface, which was a mercy. I didn't dare exposing him to the volatile, gnarled underbelly that came with the rest of it. I felt all that he was twist up and recoil, as if my very being was something that burned. Still, as if our beings were hands, he couldn't resist brushing the tendrils of his being in an attempt to pry deeper.

But that was too painful - physically and emotionally. Such interactions were painful now, as all Force was, and it was my hope that Chodo would take away that at least.

The pain that came with being awake.

We reemerged to the present both at the same moment, both breathless. His cruel face had changed once again, and this time he reached for me. I shied away.

"No," I said firmly. "You don't get to comfort me for this."

I saw his jaw clench.

"I just wanted you to know what I feel every day. All the time. Even when I sleep. Though, I'm sure you've figured that out with my nightmares and all."

He didn't move.

"Only Chodo has offered to help me with this," I said.

There was a long pause.

"I didn't know," he finally offered.

"I know," I said back, looking him right in the eye.

They spoke for me.

_Does that really matter whether or not you knew?_

Again the jaw clench.

"Just go," I ordered, suddenly weary. "If we're leaving tomorrow, you need to be ready to fly."

Wordlessly, so scolded, Atton turned with an almost apologetic heel and left the room.

* * *

><p>She was the embodiment of pain.<p>

Agony.

Anguish.

She _was_ death.

A void.

Darkness.

Lost.

No, that wasn't quite right. She was there, hidden beneath.

That was probably the worst. Knowing that. She was just beneath the surface of tar and blood and muck.

The ship flew smoothly, despite how irritatingly distracting the too vivid memories of her pain were, impossibly etched into the place where I felt things.

The ride down was bumpy. There was a lot of turbulence, and she'd moved up front to sit beside me. Just once, we turned and met eyes. Hers were wide, and I noticed the grip on her seat was tight.

She had that look in her eyes. Bad memories. I didn't like how that made me feel.

"We're almost out of the atmosphere, princess," I found myself muttering.

A consolation that hung in the air.

"Is it crazy that I'm nervous about this?" she asked.

The admission yanked a nervous laugh from her, and I was glad.

She was more forgiving than I deserved, allowing this conversation to happen. I'd been less than great in the last week. I wanted to apologize, but I didn't know how, I found.

"No, I'm nervous too," I admitted, offering a smirk to the window.

I hoped to be better moving forward, starting with this conversation.

"I feel good though," she offered after a few moments.

She wanted to _talk_ to me. It brushed her nerves away. A flush of pride came at this that she opted for me over the hag, that I was worth pursuing.

"Yeah?" was all I asked. "I could tell you that you looked good, but that would be redundant."

I glanced sidelong at her, and I didn't miss the wonderful, full smile that I'd missed come back. The pride magnified.

"You know," she said, "I don't really mind so much when you say it. Well, no. That's not true. I don't hate it as much, I guess."

"Why?"

"Because you don't really mean it," she said plainly, as if the answer were that simple.

I blinked and my hands froze what they were doing. My heart began to race. An unpleasant choking feeling came to me, but I tried to talk.

"Why do you say that?"

She just shrugged, for once totally unaware of the shift this brought about in my mood.

"It isn't supposed to be special when you say it. It's sort of...I don't know. A joke."

I felt myself slump in my chair, but a moment later, an alarming beep rang on the dashboard in front of me, causing me to sit up straight again. She glanced at it, and I heard her say,

"What is it?"

And then there was a crash. A boom. Wind and fire. Movement and the noises of frantic machinery. Beeps and knocks. In the corner of my eye, I saw her unbuckle her seat and move behind her. Alarm and panic ensued at this, and I screamed back at her to ask what she was doing.

Even I couldn't hear.

Fire. Lots of fire.

She didn't rebuckle.

Fuel then.

She was still gone.

_What are you doing? _my mind screamed.

More wind.

Then...green. Imminent impact.

And still she was not there.

Swearing all the colorful swears I knew, I unbuckled too and lunged at her just as she lunged forward, and I felt gravity in all its glory as we careened into the planet.

Dirt and grass and nature spilled into the cockpit, and we spilled out of it. As we hurled through the air, I yanked her inward, tucking her into my body as if she belonged there.

In the back of my mind, it struck me as very odd that I, a not-so-very-brave or important random scoundrel who didn't even really _like_ Jedi would do such a thing for her.

But that thought never came to fruition.

I hit the ground, she with me, and all I could think about was the smell of her hair pressed deep into my nose.


	16. Chapter 16

Sounds of the bugs hung on the breeze that brushed against my face. The sounds were far away, and with it came a damp, warm sort of feeling. I felt the air around me moving strangely and felt a pressure beneath my body shift. It, too, was warm, and it smelled nice, of wood, familiar but lost to me in the present. The body beneath me was warm, though, and I was too. But this was not the natural kind of warmth. It was a warmth so hot that it could no long be felt, so far beyond the limited senses of human capabilities. It was fire. This realization came too slowly, but alarm was immediate.

Then, suddenly, the wet, sticky warmth underneath me was gone, and so too was that wonderful alive smell. I felt the sensation of being dragged through something wet and cold, and the temperature difference was so abrupt that I felt almost sick with the change. Weakness and pain emerged at the absence of such extremes thereafter, yielding only desperation to get away, to get back. And, for some reason, to go back in there and save that wonderful, familiar smell and the body it belonged to.

There was some kind of noise, but internal conflict took precedence over external affairs, and there was only pain and darkness there. I yearned for that smell, knowing a name of the body it belonged to but unable to conjure that name to my conscious memory. This distressed me because, without it, I was lost. The name came – again and again and again – on my lips, and it became the need my body craved so that it might have a reason to sustain itself.

Until the body was back again, further away than when in the fire, but there, faint.

This was enough reason to yield in my struggle, and I felt myself slipping into the feel of the world around me, sinking into the magic of the place as easily as if the ability had never been stripped from me. This actually was surprisingly easy, and I felt more grateful than I was capable of expressing to Chodo Habat for whatever it was that he'd done.

The things I felt around me no longer hurt inside. It was no longer a piece of bark scraping roughly against torn flesh. It was now a warm blanket on a cool night – very present, but no longer unpleasant.

The place around me was a hammock for my essence as I sank further away from consciousness, and, though the sensation of falling backwards was temporarily terrifying, I felt the swinging and calming motion of it envelope me in a soft, healing embrace.

The sounds of the bugs became something significantly more profound as I emerged from beneath the surface, emerging from the depths of the physical world, to peek my awareness above the surface of all it was in the Force.

And it was _breathtaking_.

I'd forgotten. That was all I could think, over and over again. I'd forgotten what this felt like, this connectedness. All that it was and all that I was had connected in my state of unconsciousness, and the feeling of being _grounded_ somewhere was unimaginably comforting.

This was why the Force was important. _This_. Life. Aliveness. It was a song I'd forgotten the words to, but they were back. And, like a nostalgic old man, it turned to welcome me again, welcome me to the flock of the living as I came back to life from the infinity.

It remembered me, even as I'd forgotten its sounds, and my reservations fell away as the familiarity of the things around me shuffled back into their places in my memories beyond my senses where the Force tended to dwell. It was as if the Force had been waiting for me to come back. Like it knew the exact date and time that I'd lose it and regain it again.

Something about this was so moving and profound, being part of such a grand plan, that the qualms of reality faded away into utter blissfulness, however fleeting. There was the now, and the now was grand.

I was a speck in a sea of noise as I began to reorient myself into the unknowable hugeness of the galaxy around me. My senses honed back into me, into this planet and in this time, and I began to notice details more clearly. This planet was a young thing, alive, as all planets were. It had died, but this planet, birthed from the ashes, was emerging just as a kath hound pup might emerge from its mother. It was a thing of pure endurance, fighting for all it was worth in the galaxy to be as it had been, once.

Bugs provided the base on which all of the animals began to sing, and their song was persistent and determined in the Force. A thriving ecosystem. The alive things called out to one another across space and time in ways that filled my soul with tears of joy. Birds chirped along to the chorus of the bugs, interrupting one another happily, and moans of other beasts, large and small, could faintly be heard. Flapping and howling noises weren't far off, and it took on the life of something that was distinctly uncivilized and wild.

But it was so totally unimpaired by the noises of modern technology and machinery that my very presence had to remain still so that the noises would not die out. The noises, surely, would fear me, even in the Force, for I was an interloper in this wild place. They would recognize me and know me on some instinctive level and retreat due to cautious and misguided fear.

So, cautiously and precisely, I made to adjust once more to this, my new life.

Being able to _hear_ the life around me transcended my reservations with the Force, and I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into the seductive wails of animals who knew nothing of good and evil. I found myself relishing this place in this time, wanting nothing more than to experience the same contentment for the remainder of my days, forgetting completely my memories of the previous moments.

But, something tugging and yanking ripped this place from me, and I felt the contentment slip away as if it had once been a tangible thing in my fingers. The noises didn't decrease their intensity, but they did take on a far off quality, both louder and quieter in different ways. The sounds became something that I was limited to by my weak, human ears.

A realization which sucked me back towards my body at breakneck speeds.

I felt myself fall into my body so quickly that the waking up was frightening, and I sat up abruptly, only to have something very hard and solid collide with my forehead.

"Shit…" I found myself muttering, but even that hurt.

Then, I realized, a _lot_ more than that hurt. My torso felt stiff with obvious pain, and it was hard to remain upright the way that I was. I tried to move back to my previous position when I realized that this was also impossible. Moving anything more than breathing was excruciating.

I was stuck in this painful position, and I began to look around stiffly to ascertain anything that might help me back.

I was in a hut made of a dark brown wood. The wood was shoved together tightly for a makeshift wall, but here and there bright white light shone in through the cracks, revealing a floor with a bizarre bark quality that I couldn't make out in the dim light. The din of the outside, though far quieter than it had been, was kept out by these walls, and a door, I thought, a little behind me would lead to the outside.

I wasn't sure, though. I couldn't turn my neck all the way.

I was in a bed I didn't recognize made of furs and skins. The material was coarse but comforting all at the same time, and I found myself wishing I could be wrapped in them again, asleep, resting.

Abruptly, a noise burst into the room from the direction of what I hoped was a door, and I felt more than saw a man come into the room. He wiped his feet, but I heard him suck in a breath.

"You should be asleep," a familiar voice said to me.

The voice didn't alarm me. I sensed nothing malevolent about it, so pure were the tones underneath. Just unadulterated concern, love, patience, kindness.

A voice I knew I could recognize but that wouldn't come to my mind. Tears came inexplicably at such kindness, something that was difficult and even painful to adjust to. Gentleness was not something I often experienced from anybody.

I opened my mouth and tried to speak, but the breathing in to take breath for it was difficult. Eventually, I just shook my head helplessly, feeling the tears intensify, hoping he would understand that I was incapable of expressing the vast amount of things that I needed to undo not just the physical pain, but the raw emotional pain that ruled in these moments in the in-between of sleep and waking. This voice brought this need roaring to the surface, almost as if it recognized the kindness I needed in this mysterious and familiar disembodied voice.

Just as suddenly as the noise had come into the room, two hands took the weight from my sore muscles and forced me back into a sleeping position. I noticed that the hands were a pale color, and the hands were worked and worn. I didn't have the presence of mind to do anything beyond feeling those hands push me back down.

I tried so hard to be awake once more, to see those hands and their owner, to know the kindness in that person for fear it would be gone when I woke up, but the noises of the place I found myself in called to me. That sound without sound was coming alive again in my head, and I could do nothing to resist the serenity that came from there.

* * *

><p>All at once, the Force changed, and there was an alive cold thing overtaking my progress on this stream of noise. The coldness made me feel wilted inside, like a cold, damp hand slithered up my leg to the lower part of my back. Something…not quite right. Something <em>wrong<em>.

Then, a voice came to me, just as wrong and just as disturbing.

:You are changed,: the voice said to me.

I couldn't explain why, but I was frightened of the voice. I tried to shy away from it, but it was now all around me. Eyes from all sides peered at me as I began to drown in the shocking cold, but I tried to see if this was fear, if this oppressive darkness might pass.

:I am changed,: I said back to this disembodied voice.

Far away, I felt something yank me downwards, as if I was high in the sky and my body was far below. The downward feeling was led by my stomach, which felt heavy with queasiness. I also felt my chest heaving from far away, labored, as if I was trying to breathe with something soft and warm over my mouth and nose.

Like the cold was snuffing me out.

This was my body, and I was outside of it, up here in the Force somewhere. But I was powerless to return to it, not like before, and I was trapped with this cold and dark thing. This was the nightmare and down there was the reality.

:What are you?: I found myself asking.

:Don't you know me?: it asked.

:No, I don't know you.:

And that same heaviness yanked me downwards and into my body, as if the talking I did here brought me all that much closer to waking up.

The coldness laughed, and I sensed all that it was. It had no conscience. It was the embodiment of all bad things bundled into one thing, and its soul, if it could have a soul, was malevolence incarnate. It transcended everything I knew, forming a bleeding hatred that I couldn't even fathom. It stemmed from something beyond living things, something dead inside that was fueled by something incomprehensible.

It frightened me, but everywhere I turned _it_ was there. I was surrounded by it, drowning in it. I now recognized nothing, and everything I looked to was dust or blackness, fiery hatred and rage that I recognized to be a dangerous thing.

:Don't be afraid,: the voice told me. :You do not have to be afraid.:

:You make me feel wrong,: I told it honestly. :And I don't like the wrongness.:

:But I am you,: the voice replied finally, as if amused by my ignorance.

A lurch downwards again, into the physical world, but this Force voice beckoned me.

:You're not me,: I replied defensively. :You're a bad thing.:

:_Bad_?: the voice asked me, as if taunting. :Is that what you think you are?:

:I'm not you,: I said back.

:You are me. We are _us_. This is what we are.:

The coldness became oppressive. I was now deaf to the songs of the Force around me, and all that had once been was now blackness. I found myself drawn to it, like it was calling out to me.

:You are a wrong thing,: I found myself defending weakly. :You should go away from me.:

I felt like a child in this thing's presence, as if my feeble grasp on the Force was but child's play to this embodiment.

:_Wrong_?: it asked me incredulously. :But how are we wrong? We can be friends. We are the same, after all.:

A possessive sort of presence began to seep inside of me, and I felt soured by it. The presence could never be washed from me, and I was now poisoned forever. My incorporeal being recoiled.

:I don't want to be friends with you,: I finally managed to tell it, but this was a labor.

:But we are the same,: the voice argued. :If you did not already know me, you would not be able to hear me now.:

:We are _nothing_ alike,: I tried to tell the being.

It just laughed.

:Dear child, I am the answer to this hurting. I can destroy this badness inside of you. I can make this hurt go away.:

:This isn't me,: I said back weakly.

:Look again,: the voice instructed.

Reluctantly, I began to look around for what I was in the Force, to feel the place I'd reestablished in this little place. In the face of this blackened maw and the disembodied voice, I was like an infant, but shriveled up and dying, wilted and bleeding. I was caught underneath it oppressively, and this coldness weighed me down.

The voice was right.

The voice was not the maw.

_I_ was the maw. I was rising out of it, and this was me for the first time in ten years, looking at the maw from the outside. I heard the dull wail of the pain that the voice rose from, bordered by rage and hatred that was now unchecked. This voice did strange things with that maw, as if it had not only become accustomed to it, as I had never been able to, but it had also used it to become something powerful and sinister.

:How did you do this?: I asked desperately.

:_Do?_: the voice asked. :I did nothing but show you what you once were. What you could be again.:

:But I just came from that,: I said, alarmed. :I can't go back. I don't want to go back.:

:But this is what you are. This is what you have become.:

:No!: my being protested.

The blackness began to inundate me, and sensations faded away into the agony that was impossible to describe.

:What is that?: I asked it. :What's happened to me? Why are you doing this?:

:You have died, Jedi,: the voice whispered to me. :This is you. You are death.:

:But I'm not death,: I found myself arguing. :I'm not dead! I'm alive! I'm right here! I was right there! Just a second ago! I was right there, alive!:

If the Force allowed it, I would have pointed down to my physical body that I knew the blackness could sense. But the Force didn't work like that, and I found myself powerless to prove that I was, in fact, alive.

:Life again is poisoning you. Hindering you. Do not let it. Return to this state, and you will prevail.:

I resisted more adamantly this time, out of panic and instinct rather than courage. The thought of returning to this living state of undeath was too horrible to even consider.

:No!: I tried to say to it. "I won't do that! It hurts too much! It's unnatural. It's _wrong_. You are _wrong_. That's _wrong_! I've been fixed! You can't send me back that way!:

The blackness receded somewhat and so did the voice. In the background, far away, I heard a voice, louder and stranger, repeat these words.

"You're wrong. I'm alive. I get to be alive. I'm alive. I'm alive!"

It was my voice, my real voice, speaking aloud, pulling me back, pulling me away. I felt myself fading into my body…

When suddenly, so suddenly it was disorienting, the blackness swallowed me. The voice was above it, around it, in it, controlling it and me. The voice tugged the black so tightly around my throat that I couldn't breathe. It was the ache again, that awful ache. Tears came to me, and I was falling downwards, thrashing, fighting, wailing. The voices of those thousands dead rose to the deafening volume, and I fought and fought to be awake. To be away.

To escape these awful clutches.

It was killing me. I was going backwards. It was undoing Chodo Habat's cure. I could feel the itch of living return to me, that absence of something vital but not having the good decency as a living thing to die. It was not being alive but not dying. It was a curse of eternity, a promise of a forever of nothingness.

This caused the fight in me to struggle in earnest, and I felt my own power begin to overcome this evil vileness in the beyond.

I heard my own voice thrash and scream, far away. I felt my own stomach wrench to resist vomiting, my throat constrict as if the blackness had hands. I wanted to scream. I had to get back to that person. I had to wake up. I _had_ to wake up. I had to drown it out.

I'd done it before. I could do it again.

The blackness squeezed harder, and I fought harder, harder than I'd ever fought anything. The voice above the black suddenly had a face I recognized, a signature that became knowable.

It was Kreia.

The name sent me plunging into my body, and I woke in a fury of tears and sweat and pain. I couldn't breathe, but I smelled fire and smoke. There was no warmth around me, and I was terrified. I couldn't see, but even if I could, I couldn't process what I was seeing. There was pain. So much pain. Pain that I was trying with all my might to cram back behind that little door Chodo Habat had given me. He'd offered me a way out, and this large, black thing had pried the door open with a wedge I couldn't move.

It had only been what felt like a few brief moments of life again. It had been such a short time. I couldn't let it get away from me. I couldn't. I couldn't die.

Not again.

I fought and fought and fought, screaming, thrashing. Hands came to my wrists, strong hands, real ones, and I fought those too, just wanting to fight, just feeling so desperate to feel warm and safe again that I felt like I would do _anything_ to get it back.

"Nel – Neli! Neli!" a familiar voice whispered into my ear.

Strong arms came around me, which welcomed back sensations I'd forgotten existed. My voice was raw with shouting, and tears streamed my face and neck. My mouth was contorted with pain.

"No!" I heard my own voice now, as if it had faded in. I struggled against a body, a chest, of someone who'd wrapped themselves around me tightly.

"I'm alive!" I shouted to this chest. "I'm alive! Don't let her kill me!"

"Nune!" the voice whispered. "Nuneli! Wake up! Wake _up_!"

"Don't let her kill me!" I shrieked. "Don't let her get me!"

The strong arms resisted my attempts to break free, but the voice didn't waver.

"Neli!" the voice whispered. "Nune, it's okay. It's okay now. Listen to me! Listen to my voice, Nel!"

"I'm alive!" I shouted. "I'm alive! Get her off of me!"

I couldn't breathe. I wasn't breathing. I noticed it all at once, and things from my eyes began filtering into my senses. A man was over me, beautiful and thick, strong and sinewy against my body. Warm and sweaty, salt and breath. I was soaked through in my clothes, and my lines clung to his because of it.

Something about it was relaxing, and suddenly there was a face, a face with lines that were creased with worry. His hands were on my shoulders, and he gripped me there tightly.

I had stopped screaming, breathing all at once, just breathing, just staring at those beautiful brown eyes. Those safe, warm brown eyes.

"I'm alive," I told the eyes.

"You're alive," he answered, a soft, melodic voice.

He gave me a little shake, maybe even subconscious, as if to assure us both.

And I felt every muscle, every ache. I was in pain, I realized. I hurt all over, but that was okay.

Because I was alive. I fell back weakly, feeling my limbs relax.

I was alive.

That was good enough for now.

I passed into the darkness, this time careful to avoid the Force and all that implied.


	17. Chapter 17

When I woke again, I felt more alive than I had been in a very long time. Something about the balm of the Force around me staved off the nightmares, and, despite a vague a disturbing dream of…something dark and sinister, I felt rejuvenated.

The Force was now closer to a trickle, a cool drink, comfortable. Instead of feeling drowned, I felt quenched.

And that felt so _good_. The curse of it was no longer a curse, no longer a burden, but a gift. A warmth from somewhere in my lower spine that coursed through my extremities, a breath of fresh air to a being trapped inside of an airtight, windowless cage.

I felt alive. And that felt important.

Feeling important, feeling as if I existed, was such a big deal to me that I felt hot tears prickle my eyes. Then, I laughed at the hope's endurance – which came immediately with a moan of pain.

"Woah there, easy now," a distantly familiar voice seemed to whisper to me.

I felt my eyes shoot open, and with it, just as before, my senses zoomed in. I smelled the chars of a fire and the distinct pungent quality of cut wood. My skin felt cool as the breeze made its way through those little cracks I'd noticed before, and my hair tickled my nose so much I had to move it around to rid myself of the feeling. The noises of the bugs endured, and it caused a bright, giant smile to erupt on my face.

A true smile. Not one for show. There was no itch that something was wrong. No disturbance in the Force.

Just a friend.

The tears almost came back at this, but I forced them away with better clarity than I'd been afforded in many years.

"You awake?"

A man's voice. I tried to turn my neck away from the ceiling to look at him, but this hurt badly, so instead I trained my eyes at the thatching of the roof overhead. It tipped around one point at the center, a circle. The brush was sloppy at one end, obviously constructed by untrained hands, but by the other end, where the thatching obviously ended and then began again, the thatching looked skilled and effective, as if the one who constructed it had learned as he went.

I found my eyes tracing the lines of the thatching absently, feeling unusually peaceful.

"I am awake," I told him warmly.

I heard the man stand and shift around beyond where I could see.

"Good to see you smile," the man said back. "Your friend will be relieved. You had a…bad dream."

"Bad dream?" I asked.

Vague shadows of noises and feelings passed in and out of my awareness, but it was slippery. Every time I almost had something, it faded again into obscurity.

Odd. My dreams were normally so vivid.

"What kind of dream was it?" I asked.

"A nightmare," the man clarified, a little darkly. "Something about a woman. She was hurting you, I think. Torturing you, sounded like."

Tightness came and went in the bowels of my stomach. Maybe he sensed a change in me because he changed from this quickly.

"Your friend there didn't like it," he said.

"Friend?"

"I believe you called him Atton," the voice explained. "He got you to calm down. Not sure how."

His voice had a distinct whispery quality, and I felt my ears straining to hear him despite his closeness in the hut. I kind of liked it. It helped my mind slow down.

"I'm sorry to have caused an inconvenience," I began, but the voice made a dismissive, but polite, noise.

"No inconvenience at all."

There was another enduring, peaceful silence.

"You survived one spectacular crash," he commented.

"Yeah…" I began, but my voice cracked, so I cleared my throat and realized how dry it was. "It seems to be a talent of mine."

A hand reached over and offered me a pouch of what I presumed to be liquid. I took it gratefully and with a small utterance of "thanks" before I tried in earnest to sit up to face my savior. Doing so was too hard, and I made a small grunting noise as I sat back down.

"Careful now," he said in that soft, quiet way. "Let me help you."

Just as before, two large, worn hands came from over my shoulders to help me into a sitting position. Finally, I was afforded a good look at my new acquaintance.

A Zabrak, old looking at first but upon deeper analysis seemed young with too much life experience. His eyes were creased at the edges and his forehead looked tired, full of thick lines and small creases where his tattoos pierced his skin. They moved in relaxing, geometric patterns in a meaning I recognized: he was a proficient mechanic. His nose was long on his face, his cheeks full. His mouth was a darker shade of pink than any human's, offsetting the pale grayish green of his skin. His horns were dull, but they were many, indicating what I suspected to be his lower class in his society. Maybe that was the reason for his worked hands – he worked outside or with machines because that was his lot in life.

I knew his face. I found my eyes narrowing slightly, and a kernel of disquiet came with it. The place from which I knew his face was not of this gentle, peaceful forest. Like the blackness. His recognition came from a darker, quieter, now dead place from the war.

That was it. I knew him from the war. The first war. The good war. The war when there was a loser and a goal, the war where people only died by being shot by other people, not through some other, violent, gruesome means.

I felt those familiar muscles in my chest tighten as everything came colliding back into my memory, and the contentedness finally and wholly went away. A deep frown set on my mouth as I peered over his features, but he showed no sign of discomfort, as if he was perfectly at ease being frowned at by a stranger who wasn't quite a stranger. I saw in his eyes that he knew me too.

I wished I could place it, but was also sort of glad that I couldn't. I hoped he wouldn't bring it up.

"Lucky I was here to pull you and your friends out of that shuttle or you'd be more than a little crispy," he said to me, moving his eyes from me to someplace across the room.

I tore my eyes from his and thought of Atton in earnest now, who laid still across the room from me, barely ten steps away. He was unconscious, or he seemed to be.

"Is he okay?" I found myself asking.

The Zabrak laughed quietly under his breath.

"He'll be fine. Got up when he shouldn't have to calm you down, but it worked, so I can't really fault him for it."

There was a pause.

"He's something special to you?" the man asked gently.

I trusted him – too much – and my tired tongue gave way.

"Yes, he is," I whispered in reply. "Probably shouldn't be, but…he's done a lot to help me. I owe him a lot."

"That's for sure," the man said. "He caught you in the crash. Did you know that? Took your fall with his own body to protect you."

"He caught me…" I repeated dumbly.

Something about this felt strangely intimate, which puzzled me exceedingly in my weakened state. Atton had a habit of wading through contradictions. He'd attach this little string to one of my ribs and tug me in. When I'd get too close, he'd throw me as far as he could until he'd begin to tug me in again.

It was like a game, it seemed like. I was nothing, which was why my investment in him was stupid, but I didn't care.

A pretend friend was better than no friend at all, especially when I already knew the rules he played by. I was an expendable tool, and that was alright. I _had_ dragged him into something he had no business being a part of.

Guilt and shame came again as discomfort settled in between my throat and lungs.

"I didn't think I mattered that much," I admitted to the man.

"What makes you say that?" the man asked.

"He just has a way about him. He isn't bothered by loneliness. Doesn't get angry. Doesn't get upset. He's just flippant." I found myself sighing. "About everything. Didn't think it would bother him if he lost me...because I'm just another chink in the armor. You know? I didn't think I mattered to him." I smiled weakly. "I actually really admire that. I wish I could be better at that."

The Zabrak made an appreciative noise.

"I've seen it in a lot of men and women out of the war. I think it's a defense mechanism."

This made me blink.

"Out of the war?" I asked. "Atton's not a soldier. He's…"

Then, I paused. Atton was a crack shot. He could handle knives like I could once handle a lightsaber. He seemed familiar with military hardware and weaponry, and he was familiar with the combat-upgraded interface of the Ebon Hawk, like it was a model he'd used before. He was actually less familiar with the civilian ship, which was the reverse in experience of most pilots. He could hide as good as I could, and he didn't fall behind when I moved through places I probably shouldn't. More than once he'd come up with a clever means of escaping the inescapable, and he was familiar with military regs. He was capable of using his hands as instruments to inflict pain in others. He knew what muscles and bones to twist or snap, where pressure points were, what extremeties needed to be preserved.

How had the thought never occurred to me before?

_Was Atton a soldier?_ I found myself asking.

I felt so incredibly stupid. I was so comfortable with him that I hadn't asked about where he was from or what he was doing on Peragus, what he did in the past, where he'd picked up his - admittedly very useful - particular set of skills. I'd tried to ask a few times, with his deflection, sure, but the attempts had been half-hearted at best. If I wanted to know, I could have pressed him, figured things out. Tried a little more.

Maybe the reason we had so much friction was because he thought I didn't care about him. Was I misreading all his signs? Did he actually care? He _had_ caught me, after all.

Or was this just another walking contradiction?

I'd spent more time talking about myself and what _I_ needed and what _I_ was expected to do, now or in the past, of what _I_ had wanted or dreamed or felt, that I hadn't once stopped to ask those same things back to him. And some of these things were important.

How did _he_ feel? Was he unhappy to be stuck like this in the middle of some larger conflict? Was he angry with me for being responsible for it? Did he have aspirations beyond survival? What did he feel _right now?_

Was I afraid that he'd answer me honestly, that, yes, he was angry and wanted to part with me?

Yes.

Did I not ask because I'd known this, deep down, and I was just selfish?

Not on purpose.

But I didn't know.

He must have thought I was the most self-absorbed person in the galaxy, and my hands made their way to my hair.

"I actually don't know very much about him," I admitted guiltily as I dropped my hands again to my side.

"Well, if he hadn't cushioned your fall, you would have died for sure," the man said casually.

I just swallowed.

After all his blundering, Atton had gone out of his way to save my life. After our argument, after being dragged into this.

Was there some good man, hidden in there somewhere?

Absolutely.

I smiled a little ruefully, wishing he wasn't so afraid of letting himself be the man I saw there underneath, the man whose actions spoke much louder than words.

A bad man didn't save the woman who'd dragged you into a deadly game of predator and prey.

Which was why Atton wasn't a bad man.

I sighed eventually, mulling this over tiredly as my eyes scanned the rest of the hut.

"And the woman?" I found myself asking with some reluctance. My eyes had found her, but I almost wished they hadn't. "What of her?"

"She will recover," the man told me, "though I'm not sure how. She's a lot tougher than she looks."

There was a long silence.

"We owe you our lives," I eventually said. "Thank you."

"It's only fair," he said vaguely, turning back to the fire pit at the center of his hut.

If my muscles allowed it, they would have stiffened, but they didn't, so instead a whooping, unpleasant sensation took over my stomach.

"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously.

"I owe you more than one…General Hyrra."

"Hyrra?" I repeated dumbly.

I felt that sensation of falling backwards once more, the feeling from the good and the bad dreams I'd just had in the Force, only this time the feeling was violent and sickening and physical. A dry, stale taste came to my mouth that generally accompanied vomiting, and my head throbbed as the memories shuffled back into their places with the speed and grace of a military line up.

I put one arm over my side, one hand over my forehead.

_How does everyone recognize me_? I thought, frustrated.

He told me his name.

"Bao-Dur," I said, a name at last. "That's right. I'm sorry I don't remember you, I've been…"

What did I have to say? I'd been busy? That was a lie, sort of. I was not busy because I'd made a point not to be busy. A lot had happened? That was true too, but that usually came with it an inherent necessity to explain everything. And I wasn't ready for that. I hadn't even allowed myself to think about certain times.

Besides, that also came with it the implication that maybe he hadn't been through things, which was presumptuous at best. Though, it was hard to disassociate myself from the feeling that my ten years had been a longer ten years than the ten years of others.

"I…" I found myself swallowing, like I was tasting a foul, invisible kind of blood that seeped upwards from my throat and onto my tongue. "I'm sorry, I do remember, but I just…"

"…don't want to talk about the war," he finished for me sympathetically.

I winced, and I heard him exhale.

"We all went through some tough times after Malachor," he said quietly, "but I…I heard about what happened to you. What those _Jedi_ did to you."

Spite. There was vindictive rage for the first time in that peaceful voice.

"You deserved better, General," he told me fervently. "You were one of the good ones."

I tried to say something witty, something to draw him away from that intense and penetrating loyalty in his eyes, but tears were in my eyes. I couldn't help but to remember all the people I'd lost who'd looked at me just like he was right then.

"I…" I began, but words failed me.

How did something as little and broken as me begin to address a man I'd once commanded? I'd had worlds in my hands. I had been a brilliant military tactician, a General and a war hero. I was at the head of every battalion at every major battle in the war. My presence could influence the tides of victory, could rally men and turn the enemy.

Now, what was I? A pathetic weakling who cried too often, small and wounded, hardly strong enough to carry a pack full of nostalgic garbage from better times. I felt younger now than I had then in some ways, less capable.

I was not accustomed to so much reverence and respect, so much loyalty and kindness from the get-go. I almost felt as if I didn't deserve it, so alien was the concept of being relied on like that. I was once respected for my resilience and my strength. I hoped my strength, at least, would come back in time.

Because that look in his eyes was one I recalled in every single person I'd met in the war. They'd believed in me once.

I hoped I could learn again to earn that respect, despite the fact that it was now being so freely given.

"The second war," Bao-Dur began. "How did you -?"

"I'm – I'm sorry, Bao-Dur, I…"

The persistent reminder that came up as tears prevented me from saying anything else, but Bao-Dur took the hint.

"That's okay," he said. "I'd also…rather not talk about that war either. Just makes me sick thinking of what they did to you."

"Please…" I found myself whispering abruptly.

"How old were you then? Seventeen?"

"When I left? Nineteen."

"Damn..." he said, shaking his head. "Just a girl."

His eyes wandered over my body in a way that made me blush.

"You're...older now."

"It has been ten years."

"A long ten years, it seems," he said back.

I didn't know what to say.

"So...did you fight?"

"What?"

"In the Jedi Civil War? Could you even fight or did they take that too?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but he didn't wait.

"Did they just leave you out to dry? You used your real name, after all. Every bad or evil person who ever wanted to come after Jedi knew they'd have to go after your battalion first. How many Jedi was it? A hundred?"

I didn't move now.

"And they ripped the Force out of you. Like taking your gun in a warzone. Cowards."

"Please..." I finally managed.

My eyes had found my lap.

He was silenced.

_No more_, I wanted to beg. _That's enough. Don't bring it up. It just hurts too much_.

"Let's not talk about…about either war, okay?" I asked with a weak laugh in my voice that wasn't real.

"Have I upset you?" he asked sincerely. "I'm sorry, Hyrra, I just didn't..." He noticed my wince at the name. "What's the matter?"

"I'm…I just haven't gone by that name in a very long time. It feels strange to hear it again. Like you said, they knew who they'd have to go after first. Changing names became...popular."

Especially when it involved preceding a new name with "Darth."

His eyes became shrouded with doubt for the first time, and I thought he caught both meanings.

"You didn't change your name like General Ki'ili, did you?"

He was asking if I'd gone rogue.

I winced into the silence of the room, and every single painful moment, every tear I'd shed, every heartache I'd endured, every night I'd spent screaming into an empty room, wishing and pretending that _he_ was there on the other end, came rushing back in a way I hadn't allowed in long years.

"_No_," I said more harshly than I'd intended. "_Nothing_ like Darth _Revan_. He ceased to be the Ki'ili I knew the moment he found the Star Forge."

There was a silence after which Bao-Dur just shrugged.

"Well, then I'm glad to hear it," he said finally. "I don't mean to be…rude, it's just…you can never be too sure these days. Who's who. What's what. Especially with people like you, dropping off the grid like you did."

I said nothing, but pursed my lips. He noticed this too and his eyes softened sympathetically. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to keep bringing it up, I just…I don't know what happened to you. I thought about you a lot, actually. When the Civil War started. When news on the vids came about those agents capturing Jedi. Butchering them."

I no longer had the faculties to say anything. I just closed my eyes.

"We all did, I think," he admitted tiredly. "We all must have. Those that were left. You were just a kid, but...you were one of those reasons to fight, you know? A good one."

I had made it my point to think about none of it, so I had nothing to say. The silence turned unpleasant.

"Did you get away?" he asked me with a little desperation. "Tell me you got away before the Inquisitors got to you."

"I can't talk about that," my mouth said automatically, before I could stop it.

His eyes hardened again.

"Why not?"

"I'm not…"

_…ready_, my mind provided. _I'm not ready. Too fast. Too soon. Too dangerous._

"I'm just not supposed to," I lied. "I was Exiled. Part of it was keeping quiet."

His eyes lingered for a moment longer, clearly dissatisfied with this answer, but they seemed to latch onto some kind of distinct pain underneath also. So, he let out a breath.

"Alright, so if you haven't gone by Hyrra, what should I call you?"

I scowled.

"I've been going by Ki'ili, kept my first name." My scowl softened a little. "I'm not your General anymore. You can use my first name."

He smiled gently.

"Neli - that's what he called you, right?"

My scowl returned again.

"Yeah, that's what Revan called me, alright."

Then, I shrugged, feeling spiteful. He'd once possessively owned that right to call me that nickname. I decided now I'd give it freely.

"Neli Hyrra, I guess," I finally said. "I guess the kath hound is out of the bag. Might as well come out feet first."

He smiled.

"Just like old times, General," he said.

My mouth tightened.

"Not quite. I'm...I don't have the Force, really. I'm gaining it back, but slowly. Remember, they...took it from me. Right now, I'm basically an over-glorified, black-haired, Outer Rim sewer rat."

His smile faded.

"General, I -,"

"Not your General anymore, Bao-Dur," I said, a little more sternly.

He let out a sigh.

"Yeah...Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry, General. It's just…the first time I've seen another person from Malachor who was alive."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Atton stiffen, and my throat felt suddenly constricted.

_He heard_, I thought with a bitter desperation. _He knows and he's going to _burn_ you for it_.

"Anyway, I'm glad to see you again. Really, I am. I really did think about you a lot when we all came back home. Hard to readjust. Can't imagine how you did."

I stiffened, and he seemed to realize he was doing it again. He stood, smiling.

"If you're well enough to walk around, feel free to check on your friends. Just don't push it too hard, General. There's plenty of time to rest."

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Far from anyplace anyone could ever find you," he said.

And just like that, he dipped out of the tent and was gone.


	18. Chapter 18

Tentatively, I shifted off the side of the bed and became aware that it was my ribs that hurt, mostly, and my neck. I tried to stand. My legs were weak, but I managed the few steps across the hut to Atton's mat ungracefully. It was just something that I had to do.

I hesitated for a moment in a standing position before I realized that my body would not allow this, and before I knew it, I was collapsed on the edge of Atton's bed, watching his (likely naked) form. A low-lying sheet made him decent, and one of his legs dipped outwards dangerously close from underneath. I found my eyes looking at the way it clung to him. I could see the tantalizing edges of his left hip bone. The sheet dipped here slightly, hugging his bare lines, and clung against his thighs closely.

It felt…scandalous. Like I was sneaking to get a look at him when I shouldn't be. We were, after all, comparable ages. Or at least it seemed that way.

It dawned on me that I didn't know his age, and I winced. How could I describe him?

Youngish. That's how I described me to others. Youngish.

I found my eyes lingering slightly too long on the hard lines of his youngish body in a way that felt…not me. Something entirely unfamiliar, but equally enticing, came to me in a second as my fingers began to itch to brush against that hip bone under the sheet. An aching to know how he'd react if I did came to my mind, and something very close to a fantasy erupted before my eyes as I imagined him taking my fingers and, purposefully, guiding the tips of my fingers down to an area with a little bit more _flesh_…

_Stop_! I found myself thinking. Tearing my eyes away, I forced them instead a little northward, feeling sheepish. _What is _wrong_ with you? You don't even _know_ him._

It was the way Atton likely looked at me.

Then, I sneered, laughing at this – my own – suggestion. Pure fantasy.

I was a _Jedi_ and a murderer. I was a liar and a coward. He'd already shown scorn for _all_ of these traits, and the way he complimented me – if you could call it that – always seemed pejorative or pandering. Certainly not sincere. My body, he liked. Sure. That made sense. When you got right down to it, we were two people of comparable ages – both youngish – who were ideal for furthering our genetic code via procreation. That was a fundamental instinct, and so it made sense that Atton wasn't shy about his attraction – to my body.

Not to me. Not to who I was beneath my muscles and skin.

Because that person was small and weak and malnourished. That person was me, and I was a speck.

This hurt my heart, and my already wounded body sagged painfully at this disparaging thought. I'd forgotten I was such scum in the last month in which I'd met (and stayed with) people, but that didn't change the fact that I was, and still would be for all of time, a speck. A peon. Vapor.

Spam.

My sneer hardened into a bitter scowl.

_What would he want with _you_? _I thought to myself. _General Hyrra_, _the war criminal?_

And so, when I realized I was running away in my own head again, I made a point to evaluate my attraction distantly.

It wasn't like me.

It _was _like him.

This could be no coincidence.

Were Atton and I bonding in the Force? I'd always been far too good at that for my own good. He wouldn't like it, I was sure. But it would explain my attraction to him, foolish and out-of-character as it was.

I would have to be more careful, I realized. First Kreia, now – unfortunately for him – Atton.

I decided to watch him less avidly but no less intently, all desire diminished, but he didn't move. I almost wished he would, but I knew he was stubborn. I'd have to address him, not the other way around.

He wouldn't make this easy.

"I know you're awake," I whispered to him softly.

I expected hesitation or perseverance in the lie. To my surprise, he just opened his eyes at this and peered at me. The look in his eyes frightened me, and I didn't know why. There was too much tumult in between my ears for me to really address it. Things were beginning to move fast as my heart began to race in a panic over what to do, hobble back to my bed or sit there with him, aching and in pain, trying to explain the unexplainable.

But all this sort of dimmed as his rich brown eyes softened with relief when they took me in, peering over my face like I sustained his pain. His mouth stretched wide, and he smiled at me wearily. There was warmth there, and relief.

Then, a moment passed and, like a sugar exposed to heat, his eyes hardened beneath my gaze. My reaction was instant. My stomach dropped, and I found myself swallowing. My heart rate quickened again, almost palpitating in my chest, and a ringing in my ears, similar to those horrible voices, stifled any and all ambience outside of that little bubble around the two of us. I racked my brain for the right words – how did I even _begin_ to _start_ to address the accusatory questions in his eyes? – but, like always, I didn't know how.

Eventually, his eyes closed again, but he shifted a little bit under my gaze.

"General Hyrra…" he muttered with half-lidded eyes.

The heat of any remaining desire was instantly doused by the cool evenness of his voice.

Shamefully, I felt hot tears prickle my eyes, but I didn't know what to say.

"I know that name," he whispered.

I didn't speak, but I was grateful he wasn't looking at me.

A lot of people knew that name.

Not many of them alive.

"You did serve with Revan in the war," he mused.

He sounded angry.

"I told you I did," I whispered anxiously.

He stiffened. He heard the fear in my voice, and I saw the edges of his mouth and eyes tighten.

"That's how you knew Revan," he said, as if piecing it together.

I pursed my lips, but I didn't need to say anything. I couldn't. It felt surreal talking about _him_ to Atton.

"You served in the 21st Battalion," he said, another declarative question.

"Mhmm," I said, my voice quiet.

"What company?"

"Seventh," my mouth said autonomously.

It amazed me that I remembered that. Nobody had asked me that question in a _long_ time.

I hid my surprise that he knew of companies and battalions, and the inconvenient mystery of his past emerged once more into my conscious thought. But then, maybe it was common knowledge now, after all. I hadn't been altogether _with it_ in the last few years.

"You said you taught Revan," he said angrily. "But he was in charge of the entire 21st Fleet. What could you teach him if he was your superior?"

I hung my head.

"Jedi ranks don't work like the Republic," I said.

Then, I made a bitter kind of noise.

If they did, the Mandalorian War – and the Jedi Civil War that followed – would have gone a lot differently.

I swallowed. He was waiting for the explanation.

"Jedi are supposed to assume they don't know anything about anything."

"And they don't?" he asked abrasively.

I winced.

"What I _meant_ is that Jedi can be in charge and still learn from someone who is lower in rank. They're supposed to be open to new ideas. It happened all the time – when I was there, anyway."

"Is that so?" he asked mockingly. "So, tell me, what did you 'teach' Revan? That was your claim when we first met, right?"

I winced again. What a fool I was, to throw that claim around – like it was something to be proud of.

"I don't know," I said, hoping he'd drop it. "I helped Revan here and there with…things."

"In what way?"

I hesitated. He still sounded so angry, and I knew he _wouldn't _drop it.

"I was a brilliant tactician – once. I was good with a saber and good at planning battles."

"How does Revan fit in?"

"I saw the big picture, which he always told me I taught him to do. The long run. When we planned battles, he'd almost always ask me first. That's why they appointed me General, even though I was so young."

"Yeah, right. _General_. Funny how a random stranger gets to hear about it before I do."

"You didn't ask about it," I said quietly.

"Is that something I need to ask?" he asked spitefully, pulling himself up against the backboard of the bed for support. "I thought maybe you were a Padawan or a basic soldier. A _General_? Kind of something you want to tell people before you wrap them up in your fanatical quest to save the galaxy. You're the real deal."

"I'm just like anybody else."

"Bullshit!" he shouted. "That's such _bullshit_! _General_ Hyrra? You know you're a legend, right? A living legend? The Jedi who helped win the war and then disappeared? If someone – or _something_ – is after you, it's going to be after me now! That is on _you_!"

Something about this claim called my instinctive defensive to arms.

"Hey!" I snapped back. "I didn't _ask_ to be a General, they _made_ me one! I also didn't _ask _you to help me! So far, you've had to – or you've volunteered! You want to go? Go! We're planetside, so that means you're free to hop off any time you want. I'm sure it'll be _really_ fun explaining to the next patrol how you got here in the first place!"

By the end of my tirade, I was in tears. I covered my face with my hands so I wouldn't have to look at him, and I let the painful ache wash over me.

"I didn't _ask_ for this!" I said into the palm of my hand. "To be who I am! But this _is_ me! This _is_ who I am. I didn't want you to know! I didn't think – I didn't…I had – I had _no_ idea he'd be – that he'd know who I…"

I trailed off weakly, but the tears turned into painful sobs that racked my wounded torso.

"Why didn't you want me to know?" he whispered.

I looked up at him. His eyes were alert now, and he stared at me seriously. His anger was gone, and the edges of his eyes softened again for me. He looked so full of remorse that my eyes fell to my own lap.

"I was afraid," was my reply.

I saw his fists clench.

"Of me?" he asked with a little bit of desperation.

I looked up at him helplessly.

"A little. But I'm afraid of a little bit of everything now."

"Why, Neli?" he asked, his voice wavering.

I thought again.

"The Inquisitors…" I answered finally.

A question lingered in his body language until his resolve couldn't hold it any longer.

"What about them?"

His voice carried so much of _something_ that my eyes flicked back up to meet his at the sound of his tone.

"My master told me that I should just take a new name and run away. He said they would come for me and that I always had to watch. I had to pretend, he said. Pretend to be not what I am. So I did pretend for a long time until I guess I just wasn't anymore. But I never stopped being afraid that they'd be able to see me again."

"Again?" he asked in alarm.

His hand closest to me took my wrist. He ignored my wince and he tugged until I looked at him.

"Neli, what do you mean _again_?"

Wheels turned in my head with jarring speed, clanking so loudly as they went that they seemed disruptive to any and all thought processes.

_Lie_, I whispered to myself. _He doesn't need to know that. Not yet. Lie_.

But I _hated_ lying.

I felt myself squirming with this predicament.

"I saw my fair share of terrible things in the war," I replied with a vagueness I hoped would throw him. "Those bastards – the Inquisitors – they were always there in both wars. Just got really good at their jobs in the second, I guess."

Still, he looked upset, and his fingers twitched in my hand's direction from atop my wrist. Instinctively, I twisted my wrist around to clutch his fingers in my hands, and I couldn't tell who was holding whose hand.

"I made it my business to hide, Atton," I told him earnestly.

He looked at me just as intently as I had surely just been looking at him. I felt him want to believe me, wanting to feel relieved.

Everybody knew what happened to the Jedi who _hadn't_ hidden.

After all, I was the last of the Jedi.

That loss again swept over me.

"You didn't worry at all that someone might _hate_ you for the Mandalorian Wars?" he asked, staring at our hands before looking up again at me.

"No," I finally managed. "I was fifteen. Didn't really worry about anything. And besides, I'm not ashamed of it." I met his eyes determinedly, maybe even pointedly. "I went back and faced what I did, but I've never apologized for it."

His lips contracted into a weary smile layered with other emotions like empathy and sadness.

"So Revan's name was Ki'ili?" Atton asked.

"Lohelo'il Ki'ili," I whispered, gripping the furs on his mat tightly with my free hand.

He noticed this. And some hidden part in my voice drove the jealousy into the forefront of his voice.

"You…" He cleared his throat. "You took his last name."

It was a question.

I just shrugged.

"I thought no one would remember him as he was. People would still be looking for me though, so it made sense to me to take it."

"That name - is it from Deralia?"

"Yes, the language of our people," I said, nodding. "He and I were actually from the same tribe when the Jedi picked us up. We were separated and I went to Dantooine, he to Coruscant."

He mulled this over.

"So you knew him personally? _Darth_ Revan?"

I winced, and it was answer enough.

"Does that mean that you two were close?" he asked, a little too gingerly.

The familiar nausea swept over me.

"Yes," I whispered. "Very close. We actually kept in contact for many years after we were separated until they found us out." I laughed softly at the memory, but the laughter was so tainted with sadness and regret that it felt like poison in my lungs.

"My master was so mad he had me clean the latrines for weeks," I finally said.

"What was it like to see him again?"

"Strange," I admitted.

"What was he like?"

There was awe in his voice, and I cringed.

"Atton, he was just like you and me. Just a man."

"I mean, how does he compare to me?" he asked, smirking that familiar smirk, and I felt relief.

Familiar territory. Easy, sweet nothing-conversations that didn't amount to anything.

"Was he as devilishly smart, charming, and _handsome_ as I am?"

"Oh, he's _much_ more handsome than you," I joked, removing my hand from his.

Atton's laughter was a welcome thing.

"Impossible!" he claimed.

I began to laugh harder, but it hurt my torso, and I folded into myself, making a noise similar to a wounded bird. His hands were on me instantly, and that laughter in his voice had died.

"I'm sorry," he said gravely. "Are you alright?"

I nodded, but tears pierced my eyes now. Whatever I'd just done hurt – badly.

"Maybe you should just rest for a while," he said, glancing over at my mat across the hut.

I eyed it hopelessly. It seemed so far away.

He seemed to sense this and was suddenly very uncomfortable, as if he'd just become aware of his state under the covers.

"Hey, uh, I have a little room here," he began, "if you want it, I mean. Not that you would, but I was just thinking that maybe it would be better for you than standing up again."

I made to protest when a pain shot through me again, silencing anything I might have said.

"Good idea," came out instead, and I immediately leaned forward to lay down when I remembered this was what hurt.

"Atton, I'm - I'm sorry, I need help."

He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Uh, okay, with what?"

He seemed eager to help but he just didn't know how. His sudden eagerness made me feel overwhelmed, and it was hard to breathe.

"It hurts to lay down," I managed. "Can you just help me get there, please?"

My face was red but he seemed not to notice as his hands found my waist gingerly. I stiffened instantly and sucked in a breath, but not out of pain.

His fingers recoiled from me, and the look on his face was different than I'd ever seen it.

He was in _anguish_.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked desperately.

I shook my head because I didn't trust my voice.

After a moment, his hands found my sides again, more gingerly than ever. He pushed lightly against me, supporting my weight as he did, until I was curled up in a ball beside him. The mat was very small, but I was used to sleeping in small, hidden places, so I didn't touch him, even if curling up as such was just a little too painful.

"Better?" he asked from above me.

But it sounded almost as if it was coming from another realm. I felt so heavy and tired suddenly that I couldn't fight the coming sleep. I might have answered, I might not have, but time passed.

"I…wanted…" I could barely move my mouth for lack of energy. "Tell you something," I managed.

"It can wait," he said from somewhere up high, far away from me.

My right hand found his somehow, and I squeezed it weakly.

"Thanks, Atton," I whispered. "Owe you one."


	19. Chapter 19

By the Force and all the gods I knew, staying with her was…hard. In more ways than one.

It was inevitable. I knew that. Ever since that brief glimpse of only part of her naked body in the refresher, the thought of her undressed haunted my dreams.

Which made things hard.

But this was different.

I couldn't sleep. I could barely move. Her lithe body had been twisted around mine the night I'd learned, finally, who she really was. One of her arms had been sprawled across my bare chest, her head buried in the crook of my underarm. In certain parts, only sheets separated us, and my body had burned. I'd felt hot all over, warm and stiff and pulsing in places that made sleeping almost impossible.

She'd started out in this tiny little ball, which had obviously caused her pain. At first, I had been irritated. The wonder if I was good enough for her wandered in and out of my mind, taunting me, when I saw the look in her sleeping eyes.

It wasn't arrogance at all. It was fear – and shame?

She had begun to shake with another nightmare, and I'd grabbed at her, jumping at an opportunity to do right by her.

That was a lie.

I wanted to touch as much of her as I could with my hands.

And it had worked. She'd retreated away from her solitude and had clung to my body like I was her anchor to reality. With dreams like she had, it was anybody's guess what she'd been through, and it felt nice to be needed, even if it wasn't really me she needed – just my body.

_This is a mistake_, I'd also told myself. _I should push her away. She shouldn't be sleeping this close to me._

But I had been acutely aware of every inch of her body, which felt nice. And another part of me had wondered if this was a good enough reason to continue to allow this kind of contact. I had to admit to myself, it was a glorious thing to be touched with so much gentleness. Maybe it lacked for deliberateness, but that was okay with me.

Because, dammit, her hands were so soft, so smooth, almost like porcelain. Her hand twitched occasionally on my chest, and her fingers were cool against the warmth there. They tickled the hair there too, and I'd placed a hand over hers just for a _second_ to move it away. And that second was glorious, holding her hand. Almost like she and I were actually lovers, just drowning in the safety of one another's arms.

She'd laid on her side beside me, and this caused her breasts just barely to graze against the side of my ribcage. I'd been sure at the time that, surely, my heart shouldn't be beating that loudly. It was beating so loudly I was sure it would explode, and I remembered trying to calm down.

I'd taken a deep breath, trying hard to calm my arousal, my hyperawareness of her, and I bent my neck just slightly to breathe in the scent of her hair. A citrus smell – that was the soap on the Telos station. But there was something else too. Something very much like wild flowers, a sweet smell that lingered in my nose well after I'd brought my face and nose away from her curls.

The smell of her calmed me. Some part of me registered, if distantly, that it was actually quite an honor for her to let herself sleep beside me like this. It was nice.

Too nice.

"Atton…" the soft male voice said.

I jumped and looked around. My breathing was shallow, and I cleared my throat to hide it.

"What?" I asked, a little too quickly.

"You probably shouldn't fantasize like that. Your mouth might drool."

I glowered at the Zabrak, who was pitching up a tent.

"Yeah, right," I denied, making a skeptical noise with my mouth. "And who would I be fantasizing about?"

"Don't play dumb, Atton," Bao-Dur said. "I've seen the way you look at her."

I suddenly didn't quite trust my mouth to speak, so I cleared my throat again.

"Look, I don't want to talk about her, okay?" I said tiredly.

And it was true.

She was in the back of my mind, and in the middle of nowhere, she really was my only link to the outside world right now. There were no other sleazy women. There was no cantina, no booze, no card games to drown in. There was just her, and that made things…hard.

"That's fine with me, Rand," Bao-Dur said gently.

This surprised me. I'd expected him to press me, like everyone else, but a glimpse of his eyes told me he understood a thing or two about not talking about tough things.

"So, how long were you in the war?" Bao-Dur asked me.

I snorted.

This conversation wasn't much better.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, glad he couldn't hear my racing heart.

"The way you load your guns," Bao-Dur said casually. "And the way you carry your pack. Just screams military to me."

"Well, you're wrong," I lied, feeling self-conscious for the first time in a long time. "I haven't been in any military. I'm just some guy from Nar Shadaa."

Bao-Dur was no fool, just like Neli. But, unlike her, he dropped this, nodding just a fraction of an inch as if to say that this was alright.

"That would do it then," Bao-Dur conceded, but even I could tell it was half-hearted.

"What about you?" I found myself asking. "What do you know about military life?"

He sighed heavily, standing tall. The tent was pitched, and it looked pretty stable. I was impressed.

"I served under General Hyrra in the Mandalorian Wars," he said quietly. "We were in the same company, she and I. Our company served under Revan."

Something about this made my hands shake and my knees feel weak. It clicked with me that she and I had surely run into each other before. That I'd seen her and looked to her for support and confidence, for inspiration and had once felt loyalty. We'd been maybe even inches from interacting, from meeting. When our battalion was all together, we'd even been fighting the same battles.

Something about that frightened me because I didn't know if things would have been the same if I'd met her earlier.

That realization frightened me even more.

"You ever meet Revan?" I asked cautiously.

Bao-Dur shrugged.

"Once or twice, I suppose, but never personally."

"Did he associate with the troops?" I asked him.

I already knew the answer, but I figured I had to ask anyway.

"Yeah, Revan was one of the good ones – though he was General Ki'ili then."

I knew this too. Playing dumb was a lot easier when I didn't have to, so these gems of information would make my lies a whole lot easier.

"You notice Hyrra took Revan's last name?" I asked Bao-Dur, cautious as ever.

It felt strange calling them both by their last names.

Bao-Dur stiffened a little at this.

"I did notice that," he remarked. "I have to admit. It was a strange choice. Maybe it was a way to keep him with her."

"What makes you say that?"

My insides _burned_ to know this information, and I had to try with all my might to keep my voice casual and even.

"Ki'ili and Hyrra were…close. Some thought that they were involved at one point, but I'm sure that's just a rumor."

This floored me.

"You mean like…_romantically_ involved?"

"That's what the grunts would say," Bao-Dur said, nodding. "But you have to understand, there were a lot of rumors about Jedi then. Still are."

"But a lot of them are true."

"A lot of them aren't," Bao-Dur replied dismissively.

"So, you're really _that_ confident that this one was a rumor?"

He smiled ruefully.

"You didn't know her back then, Rand," Bao-Dur said quietly. "She was…small. She was very small." Bao-Dur looked at his hands. "Ten years ago, she would have been nineteen. That means she's been running for ten years from those _things_."

I squirmed around inside, feeling guilt and shame.

Bao-Dur just sighed.

"She was still just a child. Something about Jedi…they bring them up in isolation. At the beginning, she didn't know anything about men or war or…"

Bao-Dur's voice actually cracked a little, and he cleared his throat.

"We do her a disservice to talk about her behind her back, Rand," he finally finished. "You want to talk to her about it, just ask. I'm sure she'd tell you."

There was a pause.

"Where you from?" Bao-Dur asked, as if to change the subject.

I figured I'd allow this, since he'd allowed it with me.

"Alderaan. You?"

"Iridonia," Bao-Dur said sadly.

I stood a little taller at this out of sympathy.

"Sorry to hear that," I finally said cautiously.

Bao-Dur, for the first time, seemed to have lost his composure, and he just folded his arms, staring out into space.

"It ends up being alright in the end," he told me.

Or maybe he told himself.

"When's the last time you were there?" I asked.

"Since the last Sith occupation," he said. "Leave it to the Republic to dawdle when freeing it."

It was a joke, but I couldn't laugh. I knew all about that, and no small measure of guilt filled my stomach.

I'd helped conquer Iridonia a few years back.

Shaking my head away from these dangerous thoughts, I elbowed him good naturedly.

"That why you're out here? Finding yourself?"

Bao-Dur smiled.

"Something like that," he said to me. "I had a feeling I should come down here a few months ago and wait for something." He looked me in the eyes. "I'm beginning to think the feeling was the Force, and that she was that big something."

I swallowed now, but I had to pretend this didn't faze me.

"You buy into all that Force shit?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"You don't?" Bao-Dur asked me casually.

He sat around a fire we'd made, and the two of us were just left to stare at it.

"No, I don't think so," I finally admitted, but even to me it sounded indecisive. "Well. I don't know."

Bao-Dur laughed.

"Well, I guess it happens to be one of those things you feel. It either is or isn't. Maybe you'll feel it when you're around her."

_Hopefully not_, I found myself thinking.

"I have another question to ask you," Bao-Dur announced.

"Alright, alert the press," was my reply.

He laughed appreciatively, but I could tell he was serious. Unease flitted around in my stomach, but that much was alright because the look in his eyes told me this wasn't personal.

"Who is that woman?" Bao-Dur asked.

"Who? Kreia?" I asked.

Bao-Dur nodded. He glanced over his shoulder. The two women had been gone for a long time in the security base, and they were surely due back any minute.

"Where'd she come from?" Bao-Dur asked.

"I guess the two met out in the Far Outer Rim somewhere a while back. Apparently, Kreia set some kind of trap to get Neli out to find her because she was…" I trailed off.

Some of this might have been personal, and I very abruptly became aware of the fact that I should respect that.

"If you don't feel comfortable, you don't have to tell me," Bao-Dur offered, but I just sighed.

How could I not tell him after saying _that_?

"Fine, just…keep it down low, alright? I guess the old hag went to Velabri. Neli was looking for the Ebon Hawk and Kreia was there already in some deep trance or something. Neli almost died there, and apparently there were instructions on the ship to find her next Republic officer in line. The ship ended up crashing and was recovered in a mine field. Peragus. That's how we met."

Bao-Dur made a noise that told me he was deep in thought.

"I do not trust her, Atton," Bao-Dur finally finished. "It seems that you do not either."

I snarled my distaste.

"She's a bitch, no doubt about it."

Bao-Dur nodded.

"But beyond that. I think with her we should proceed cautiously – and do our best to protect Hyrra at all costs. Do you remember Neli's dream?"

I swallowed again.

"Don't let her get me!" she'd screamed. "Don't let her kill me!"

"You think she was talking about the old woman?" I asked in surprise.

"Yes," Bao-Dur said to me. "Maybe it's just one of those feelings."

I searched my own feelings, and I suspected that Bao-Dur was right. I opened my mouth to respond, but in that very moment, Neli and Kreia turned a corner and began walking towards us. There was a giant droid in the next room, and we couldn't get to it until morning when we were all well rested.

It seemed as if Neli was upset, but she just huffed by us, even as the older woman sat unabashedly beside the two of us. My eyes followed Neli as she continued around a corner and out of sight.

"What did you do?" I asked the woman, my eyes flicking between Neli's disappearing form and Kreia.

"I have instructed her," Kreia replied calmly. "She is naïve and foolish, and these shortcomings will only recede with punishment."

Bao-Dur and I both sat taller.

"What the hell did you do to her?" I asked Kreia with even more ferocity. "Did you _touch_ her?"

Kreia just smirked.

"And what would you do if I had?"

My gun was to her forehead in seconds, and I hated her with every breath I took in.

"I'd have half a mind of shooting you right now!"

"That would be most amusing, _Atton_," she said. "Because having _half_ a mind requires one to have even that much of a brain, and I'm afraid, in this regard, you may find yourself lacking."

Unhindered, she looked away from the barrel of my gun, which I only withdrew after a few more seconds of sweating and breathing.

"What the hell did you say to her?" I asked into the silence, glancing at Bao-Dur once.

"I've told her everything that she needs to know, and was grateful for the silence on the walk back to our little camp. That is all _you _need to know."

"Why is she upset?" Bao-Dur asked.

"Because she has foolish tendencies that need to be undone if she is to overcome the obstacles that will pass before us."

"Such as?" I asked.

"Such as her bond with you," she told me evenly.

I sat straighter now, feeling light headed.

"You mean a _Force_ bond?" I asked Kreia. "What are you smoking, old woman? Me and her don't have _anything_ in common."

"Fool you may be, but naïve you are not," Kreia replied icily. "She flocks to you, and it has resulted in your bonding with one another. It is done, and it cannot be undone."

I stared keenly at the old woman, hoping it wasn't true, wishing that it wasn't. The loud, messy part of me inside that I'd kept tucked away so masterfully threatened to spill out in every direction, and I watched as the corner of her mouth twitched upwards into a smirk.

A Force bond meant that other people could see inside of you. If I'd learned anything during…_that_ time it was that people gained the insights of the other's wisdom, feelings, memories. This meant that she could see inside of mine any time she wished. She could tear into my head and rip out my secrets one by one.

Humiliate me.

Shame me.

I wanted to gouge out my own eyes, run as far away from her as I could. She _couldn't _see what I'd done. All at once, I knew I'd rather _die_ a thousand deaths than allow her to witness the terrible things I'd tricked myself into doing.

No, I hadn't tricked myself.

I'd _wanted_ to do it.

I was a coward to the last, and my face contorted with shame.

"What?" Kreia's terrible voice asked me. "Did you think yourself so far below a Jedi's attentions that she'd bond with one such as you?" Arrogance dripped through her voice in a way that made me hate her. "Or perhaps it is your arrogance that shapes your opinion of Jedi. Or your fear. It does not matter. She is yours now, and you are hers."

I wanted to push this away. I couldn't be hers. I was nobody's. I didn't _belong_ to anybody. Not Revan. Not the Republic. And certainly not Neli.

I liked the girl, but I wasn't ready for that. I didn't think I'd ever be ready for that.

Besides, we were from two entirely different worlds. A sense of familiar worthlessness and hopelessness began to grip at me. I felt like I was once again on Nar Shadaa, hiding and running, drinking and gambling. I felt...lost. Terribly frightened and alone.

How could it be that _I_ could feel like this? _I_, the master of manipulation and feelings?

I'd fallen so far. She'd brought all this messiness back up, and it had festered down deep in a place that had been safely locked away. Coming back up brought it to light, and it was grimier than even I could have imagined.

"You're wrong!" I said loudly.

"I am not. You are bonded."

I found myself scooting away. That was impossible.

I was _good_ at avoiding that. I was better than good. I had mastered tackling the Force bond. I'd recognize that budding warmth between two people anywhere. She had it with…someone. I felt her half of it. The other half of it was wrong, somehow, but I'd chalked that up to being out of practice. To being trapped in her own body.

To her loss of the Force.

"You're lying!" I finally shouted. "We're not!"

She just laughed at my distress.

"Poor _boy_…" she whispered to me, her smirk turning into a vicious and remarkably unkind toothy grin. "You are free to remain in denial for as long as you choose, but soon she will see everything it is that you fear for me to see."

Her eyes entered mine then with a deliberateness that chilled my bones.

"What the _fuck_ does that mean, old woman?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

I extended my blaster to her forehead again, and the rage I felt was terrifying. I'd forgotten what it felt like, moving through you like that. I'd forgotten how easy it was to lose yourself in it.

As I was doing now.

"You want to dig in my head, you'll get a blaster to the forehead. _Got it_?"

She just made a dismissive noise again the riled me up.

"Such delusions of grandeur…" Kreia clucked disapprovingly. "It makes me wonder why she has not insisted you leave her side."

"Oh, and I bet you had a hand in telling her I should go too!" I snapped, scowling.

Something about this made me feel viciously defensive. If I was going to leave, _I_ was going to do it. Nobody was going to make that choice for me. Nobody was going to take that away. Not even my past. If she found out about it, too, it would be because she heard it out of _my_ lips on _my _terms.

Not that I would allow it. Over that, I knew I'd want complete control.

I would not want her to find out on the whims of a madwoman.

For some reason, thinking of Neli knowing of it felt worse every time the worry gripped me. Something that I refused to admit was fear – but that felt an awful lot like fear – had begun to take shape in my heart. It was like a parasite that was twisting around and around inside me, my skin the shell. I worried that the parasite, in its fervor to move around and be heard, would cause me to slip up.

Cause me to say the wrong thing.

Do the wrong thing.

Confess something I shouldn't.

And then Neli would know. She would know _everything_.

I'd never once before worried that my own lies would collapse in on themselves. I'd never had to. I'd been in control.

Maybe that was why Neli was so terrifying.

_She_ was largely in control of me, and I was but a puppet to her mastery. Or rather, the little parasite inside of me that caused me to feel so many different things came alive and shuddered when Neli wandered too close, when the smell of her hair, like a sweet soap and wild flowers and some tropical fruit, assaulted my senses.

I found myself struggling to stay in the conversation because my thoughts wandered so often back to _Neli_.

I scoffed at it, and Kreia took notice.

"You are a fool…" was all she said. "Her bond with you is despicable and vile. You are so undeserving of her mercy and her patience."

"I know, I know, I'm a cretin!"

But it felt _really_ bad to hear it spoken so bluntly out loud.

"Indeed, it makes me question how she allowed the bond in the first place. When I first told her of it, she seemed most displeased."

This was a blow to my pride.

So I wasn't good enough company, after all…

"Well, I'm not too happy about it either," I finally said.

My gun had made its way dejectedly to my lap, where I stared forlornly.

She just smirked again, I saw out of the corner of my eye.

"You would seek to blame her for this?" Kreia asked me.

I didn't know what to say, but the look in her eyes told me I didn't have to say anything. Once more, I felt her hands in the Force, a living thing with claws, and she tried to reach into my head.

I sneered at her, throwing up the barrier very consciously.

_No_, I told her resolutely.

And Kreia looked most displeased.

"Tell me," she said with a tone that frightened me even more. "What is it that you hide from us?"

The sneer dripped off of my face slowly.

"What are you talking about?"

"What is it that you don't want her to see, I wonder…" Kreia asked pensively.

It almost felt as if she was just beyond a Force barrier, pacing with a lit saber, ready to strike the moment I let my guard down.

"You are…" Kreia trailed off smirking. "Ah…_afraid_, is it?"

I hated her more than words could say right then, and I felt my fingers twist into fists to hit the woman when Bao-Dur cleared his throat.

"Atton," he said to me.

My eyes shot over to him angrily, but it faded at the look in his eyes into appreciation. That was the shock back into reality that I needed.

"Why don't you go check on General Hyrra?" he asked me gently. "She shouldn't be wandering off too far on her own by herself, especially if she's only just now recovering her Force."

Without another word, I stood up and jogged off in the direction that Kreia had come, very aware that the only two Jedi in the vicinity had both somehow set their targets on me.


	20. Chapter 20

Finding alcohol was unfamiliar to me, and I was not used to drowning in my sorrows. I had not been exaggerating to Atton when I'd said I'd tried my best not to drown out my own punishment. It was a path I'd chosen willingly, and it was selfish of me to try to make it go away.

But this was finally a tipping point, far too hard for me to deal with left to my own devices. I was too internally focused. Bao-Dur was a pain to look at. He'd done right by us, and I took solace in his company. But looking at him was so inordinately difficult that I tried very hard not to. And, if I _did_ want to talk to him about something, I was sure that it would be too hard for him. I saw the look in his eyes. He had the same pain with me.

Too many bad memories.

Kreia, on the other hand, would pry to her heart's content. She was a demanding bitch who was certainly not a Jedi. At least, she didn't preach like any of the Jedi I'd once known. She was all about self-first, duty-first, others second. But this was not the Jedi way, of that I was sure. I could just hear _him_ reprimanding this woman – telling her that it was a Jedi's duty to look out for others before they placed any value in themselves. That was the way it had to be.

Revan wouldn't have liked her.

T3 wasn't all bad. In fact, of the company I could have kept, he was probably the one I could talk to the most. But the thought that a droid was the best and most easily accessible source of comfort and support in my increasingly large group of followers never failed to bring tears to my eyes.

And then Atton…

Just the thought of him drove me to anger. He was flippant, and if I wanted to talk, he'd make a joke out of it. He didn't understand how damaging this tactic was to me. I was beginning to realize that I really did need help from somebody else. Peragus hadn't just been a last straw in one way. It was the last straw with being alone, bottling things up, running, hiding, repressing bad memories, obsessing over good ones. I spent so much time agonizing over what was happening in my own head that the people in front of me, who I saw as predators all trying to claw their way inside of my flesh, overwhelmed me with their questions and their looks.

Anomaly, I might be, but strong I was not. At least, I didn't feel strong.

So, I wanted to be alone again, which, taking a sip of the bottle I held loosely between my fingers, seemed so ironic. Now, being with others was a torture of the acutest kind. It was something I'd ached for, but I'd been foolish and naïve. It was not the companionship of others that I'd longed for.

It was absolution, and none other than me could earn that right. It was peace. It was, as I'd already realized, comfort. I wanted comfort from something or someone.

Tears fell helplessly out of my eyes as I wallowed in my own self-pity, wishing that some animal might come to devour me so that I could be lost forever to this foolish quest. But it would not, for I had never truly been a lucky person, and I sneered into the sky as the stars laughed down at me from so far away.

My people had once worshipped the stars. They thought the stars gods, and my star, I'd learned much later, had been a remote system with two moons. My star was supposed to mean "lucky," in our language.

I scowled, and the tears fled away. For some reason, I didn't even feel bitter about this. Just angry.

"What are you sulking around here for?" I heard a smooth voice ask from behind me.

I flipped around. It was Atton, as usual. He was standing in the doorway to the balcony I was standing on, and he sauntered over to me in that way of his that pissed me off.

His eyes flitted down just for a moment to the drink in my hand, which he reached forward and yanked from my fingers roughly. He pressed the neck of the bottle to his lips and drank deeply, as if he was desperate. When he emerged for air, his eyes were walls, behind which hostility roamed.

_Go. Away_.

He didn't.

"What's it like?" he spat.

"What's what like?" I asked, turning my back on him angrily.

He was using that tone that frightened me, the one he used when he was angry.

"Oh, yeah, Jedi are cryptic and mysterious. Here I am, forgetting you're a Jedi."

"I'm not a Jedi," I told him firmly.

"Sorry about that," he continued, as if I hadn't spoken. "I'll try to be clearer."

He took another swig from behind me, and I envied his choice to do so. He'd taken that choice away from me.

"What's it like pretending to be the good guy again?" he asked.

I snarled into the darkness, staring out the balcony and into the stars, my eyes flitting once more back to the lucky star that had been mine on the day of my birth.

"I am no guardian, Atton," I snapped at him. "Never have been. Never will be."

"But you've got power," he argued. "Stop pretending that doesn't change things."

I sneered. How naïve and misguided.

"Does it?" I asked him. "Do I change now because you say so?"

It was his turn to snarl.

"Of course you do, princess!" he said, rougher. "You don't get to pretend anymore! You have to be you again!"

"Who says I was pretending?" I asked him simply, wishing he had not taken the bottle from me. "I have nowhere to be and nothing to do. I have no name and _no_ family. I've forgotten a _long_ time ago what it means to be me."

He didn't say anything for a moment.

"So you did get lost?" he asked me.

"I did," I confirmed. "Get lost along the way somehow. I guess running is kind of like that."

"Where'd you end up going?"

"I thought you didn't want to know about my past."

"You thought wrong."

"Oh, and I'm sure you'd be more than willing to open up to _me_."

He grabbed my arm from behind, too hard, but he didn't try to twist me to face him.

I was unfazed. What could he _possibly_ do to me that others had not already done? I'd survived atrocities that I still couldn't full address in my own head.

"What are you going to do, _Rand_?" I asked him with a sneer into the darkness. "Beat me up for information? I think you'd find that your ability to extract information from me would be seriously lacking."

"Don't test me, princess," he said nastily.

"Would I ever?"

"Look, _I_ get to ask the questions here," he snapped at me. "In the end, all I've got is _me_."

"You sound like Kreia."

This seemed to rile him up.

"You're not that important, okay? So stop fooling yourself into thinking we're buds. We're not! You're a nice piece of ass, and I got stuck with you. That's it. No need to overcomplicate it."

Not surprisingly, this wounded me, but – in a weird kind of way – it didn't affect me. It almost felt as if I'd hit the bottom. I was at zero out of one hundred percent, and any other bad thing that could have happened to me could do nothing to push my resolve beyond zero. Instead, it just was stored away – like credit for a later purchase of negativity.

"Whatever you say," I said passively, sighing heavily.

This made him mad, and he finally flipped me around with that vice grip on my arm.

"So, _Jedi_, I'd like to get to know the person I'm dying for. That's not too much to ask. Is it?"

I scowled up into his eyes.

"Since when has your life held any meaning to you?" I taunted him. "Does it have value now because it is threatened? That's awfully _sad_."

"And who are you to talk?" he shouted back. "You walk around like a ghost, and you never talk to any of us! We see the look in your eyes! You're already _dead_ inside!"

I smirked now, hiding the barb that he was driving further and further into my side.

"Fine," I said. "What do you want to know about your ghost of a Jedi?"

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart," he said again. "You're not mine. Never will be."

I knew something he didn't, and it caused my fingers to wrap around his and loosen them with my touch just enough to allow me to shift around. I turned back to face the stars, taking a deep breath. He just stood there behind me, his hand on my arm more gently than before, and I could feel him raring to say something.

"How did you survive all this time?" he asked me.

I thought about it.

"I worked at it," I replied, not knowing how else to answer. "Survival is a job. Sometimes it even pays well."

He snorted understandingly.

"So where'd you get lost to?"

His voice was gentler this time, but no less poisonous. He was angry with me.

"Here and there," I said. "As I've said, I've been to Nar Shadaa. I've been all over the Outer Rim, actually. I was a slave for about a year, too." I smiled without any happiness. "Was a dancer for a Hutt. Funny that, huh?"

I felt his fingers go even slacker around my arm.

"You can't possibly know how to dance," he said to me. "Little virgin like you? What would you know about dancing for anybody?"

I shrugged, turning away even further so he had to release me.

"Not much, I guess," I replied passively.

My hands made it into my hair.

"Actually, that was a good thing because I learned a lot there."

"I bet your education was _very_ thorough," was his reply.

I just shrugged again.

"The past is of little consequence now," I echoed.

The very words Kreia had drilled into me before berating my fundamental weakness with other people. I felt my anger slipping, that rope I held fraying their last strands as it gave way into oblivion.

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart," he said from beside me. "Let me know when you get there. I'd like to know how it feels."

He handed me back the bottle, but it was empty. I glanced up at him angrily, but I didn't say anything.

"You drank all of my liquor," I commented.

"Good, you owe me a drink."

"Didn't I buy last time up there?" I asked, glancing at the floating station orbiting above our heads.

"So, next round's on you too. And the one after that. How about until I say so, all the rounds are on you?"

"_Thanks_," I replied to him. "And to what do I owe that honor?"

"For bonding with me," he snapped.

I stiffened at this.

"Yeah, I know about it," he said, leaning into me.

He drew closer and from behind he wrapped his arms around my belly. My heart began to pound, and tears came to my eyes, tears of a different kind, as his lips drew closer to my ears to whisper.

"That wasn't very nice of you, was it?" he whispered there.

His tone was so dangerous and frightening, but I knew if I struggled that he was stronger – that he would revel in me fighting it. In the end, what did I know about him? Would he take advantage of me, here and now? Would he punish me? Wrap his hands around my throat? That had happened before. Same scenario, and I'd tricked myself into believing in some good looking rogue who then had the audacity to be an Inquisitor.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Atton…" I whispered.

I was surprised by how even my voice sounded, how emotionless and commanding it was.

"You see, I don't really like being toyed with, you know?" he whispered, wrapping his arms around my abdomen closer. I was forced to back into him, and I felt his body against mine.

The contact was strangely unpleasant.

And yet…something hot and unfamiliar began to blossom from the center of me, and it didn't feel all bad. My thoughts became cloudy, and I knew this was wrong.

So, I wiped my mind of these feelings, good and bad, and I focused on not breaking down at this contact.

"Atton, let go of me now," I said to him calmly – almost deadpan.

"Not even a little bit uncomfortable," he whispered. He laughed in his throat, and I felt the vibrations of it near my ear. "Funny. I guess I should have known you'd be ready for this. You Jedi fucks always are."

My mouth twisted into the empty space in front of me that I couldn't see, and I felt my heart breaking inside from the duress of its pounding. Any pleasantness I might have felt was now totally gone, and I knew he was taking advantage of me.

I thought less of him for it, which was, all in all, so disappointing.

"Atton, you drank too much," I said, a little firmer now.

"So what?" he asked me. "Can't a guy drink a little when he's on the job?"

I made an affirmative noise.

"Yes, but not when you're upset, Atton," I said commandingly. "Come on, let go of me and we can talk about this."

He laughed, and it didn't take a Jedi to hear the bitterness of it.

"Talk…" he said, unwrapping his arms and shoving me so far forward that I tripped and nearly fell.

I caught myself, flipping around to face him.

"That's all you fucking Jedi want to do is _talk_. I don't _want_ to _talk_!"

"Then what do you want, Rand?" I asked, unable to hide my breathlessness.

"I think you know what I want," he replied to me, and his eyes roved all over my body again in a way that he'd obviously figured out I'd hated.

"But you can't have that," I replied coldly, rising to this challenge for once.

I crossed my arms, scowling in the moonlight.

"You selfish bastard."

"What can I say?" he asked, shrugging.

I realized I still had the bottle in my hand and I threw it as hard as I could past his head where it shattered rudely. He didn't even wince, just glowered at me.

"You don't think I'm a handsome guy?" he asked me, his words slurring a little bit.

"Of course I think you are, Atton," I said to him, somehow miraculously sounding uninhibited by this conversation's turn. "But I don't trust you, and what you're asking of me requires a lot of trust."

He crossed the threshold between us in only two steps, taking my hips and bringing them up to the ledge of the balcony. My senses were all on instant alert because we were over a cliff. I glanced down only once and was relieved to find that there was water below me.

I wouldn't have minded swimming to get away from this kind of behavior.

"I can't make you want it?" he asked my ear.

My neck tilted instinctively against his hot breath as his mouth roved just inches from my skin.

Again, it would have been pleasant had the entire sexual experience not been ruined by the things he'd said – by the memories I kept locked away.

"You cannot," I said firmly.

He brought himself between my legs, wrapping his arms around my waist with a breathy moan.

"Atton, I'd have to ask you to stop now, please."

"Why would I?"

"Because I asked you to."

"Why should that matter to me?"

"Because you're not a rapist, Atton," I said harshly. "And I am not on board with this, so _release_ me."

This seemed to hit him really hard, and he loosened his grip on me, leaning away. I saw those walls in his eyes again, only this time vulnerability peeked out over the turrets that defended them.

"You bonded with me," he snapped at me. "_Why_?"

"I can't help it!" I said to him, putting my hands on his chest instinctively to keep his swaying figure far from my mouth.

I realized the position we were in, and mortification began to take hold.

"You and I both know I'm _new_ to this!" I said, my voice wavering now.

"You were raised a _Jedi_!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "This isn't _new_ to you! Why did you _do_ that?"

"I don't know!" I said shrilly. "I didn't mean to! I didn't want to!"

"And why not? Some nasty smuggler too beneath you?"

"I've _never_ come up with that conclusion, Atton," I said, my face darkening. "You're the _only_ one who seems to think you're beneath me."

"This is the part where I tell you what Kreia said to me, isn't it?"

"What did she say?" I asked fearfully.

"She said you were upset that you were bonded to me."

"Well, of course, I am."

"Then what the hell, princess?" he asked me. "Why did you do it?"

Something about this entire conversation's turn made me angrier than it should have. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just me. But I suddenly felt sick to my stomach, so I shoved him hard from between my legs. He stumbled backwards and looked back up at me.

"I don't know why I did it!" I shouted at him. "And if you'd just get the hell off my back, I'd be able to sit by myself and figure it out! But you're so busy feeling sorry for yourself that you feel like you have to take it out on me! I'm _sorry_ you're with me, Atton, I really am! I don't know what to tell you! But it takes _two_ people to bond – which, like it or not, means you had a part in it too!"

That declaration frightened me more than anything, and my eyes widened when the words clung to the room in the form of an echo. Suddenly, I had to get away from him. I had to be away. Anywhere but right there in that room with him. The world was not far enough away.

"I have to go," I finally said, brokenly.

Without a second thought, I dropped backwards off the ledge. The Force, in all its glory, came to me then as my fall was slowed and I entered the cool water below me with about as much Force as if I'd only jumped from about three feet. I came back up for air, breathing heavily, and I glanced back up the side of the cliff. I couldn't help but to feel a sinking feeling now, and everything began to unravel.

He'd violated me. My heart raced. My limbs felt weak. Tears, foolish tears, came to me, and I broke down quietly on my own time in the dark, feeling afraid and knowing that this was weakness - that it was my terrible shame. All rational thought was blocked out as sobs rose out of my chest and into the air, as the sun began to rise and the time was coming closer that would mean I'd have to go back and face those fools up there who would bet money on me.

I felt totally alone as the sun rose over the water, which, for the first time in a long time, meant that I knew without a doubt that I was truly safe. It couldn't last long, but nothing did in my life. Only the Force was forever, and, in a strange kind of way, I was beginning to see again that maybe this was okay.

Wiping my tears and feeling exhausted, I jumped back over to the cliff to climb back up, not ready but willing to face the animals I'd come to know as allies.


	21. Chapter 21

When we crashed, she fell rudely out of the cockpit once more and I was left to consider how a Jedi could figure out how to crash and spill so spectacularly from high places. She seemed to have a knack for it. She tumbled over my head and fell in circles before her body met the ground with a crack that made me feel sick, and I winced as consciousness fell away.

I had a dream about Neli. A _good_ dream. She was naked, and I trailed soft kisses down her bare back, her skin the shade of a light kaffa drink. It was one of those dreams that you didn't want to wake up from because you were so unbelievably, incomprehensibly safe and happy. Her skin was warm against the gentle caresses of my insatiable fingers, and the touch of her sent tingles down to my groin in a way that made the passion that ensued thereafter mind-blowingly erotic.

It was one of those dreams that you were sure you almost felt embarrassed to have. Not because it was erotic. I was a man, after all. These things could happen. No, it was because some part of you wanted to stay there and never wake up, because some part of you, when you inevitably returned to reality, would feel sheepish for preferring the unreality to the life you were given. And that strangely desperate desire to stay there echoed into the life of the living in a way that made you ache for it, in a way you were worried others would be able to hear and see.

But, unfortunately, I did wake up. I woke rudely to a sensation of frantic words and breathlessness. There was a tendril of inherent fear in the voice behind the voice that I knew I recognized instantly, which caused the arousal that had built inside of me to diminish into this cold slush at the base of my abdomen near my stomach somewhere.

The reaction was so immediate that I was blown away by the contrast of the two sensations.

Neli was above me, by the time I opened my eyes, and her eyes were wide. She was crying.

This physically affected me, but I knew I couldn't show it. Not after our last very bad conversation. If you could call it that.

"Mm," I said to her, closing my eyes and letting my head collapse back into something cold and wet. "Did I lose another pazaak game?"

The tears stopped abruptly – it had been her voice – and she moved away. I opened my eyes again. She was walking through what I now saw to be snow, easily up to her shins, trudging in a way that looked so distinctly indignant that it was comical.

"I'm fine, by the way," I called after her in that drawl I'd once been so comfortable using. "Feel like I've had one too many shots of Corellian ale, but I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that."

She kept walking.

"Uh, no, of course you wouldn't," I finished, my heading falling back into the snow.

Still, she went further and further away. So far she faded into whiteness.

"Hey, princess, I'm over here. Are you even listening to me?"

I knew I was in no place to complain about conduct, but she could at least _pretend _to listen to me.

But she didn't.

"Where you going?" I called.

"I have to see if the others are alive," she finally said quietly, so quietly I barely heard her above the roaring wind.

"Aw, you checked on me first," I quipped, ignoring that strangely unpleasant-for-being-pleasant feeling in my stomach. "That's sweet."

"Just shut up and help me," she snapped.

It wasn't just the ice that chilled me then. Her tone bit at me too, and that same guilt I felt about that night three days prior had been grating at me ever since.

I scrambled to my feet, feeling stiff. My clothes were soaked through, and I shivered in the cold. Neli, I saw, small and tropical as she was, shivered even harder than I did. I had to fight the fundamental urge to offer her my coat, but that, all in all, wasn't so hard. I was cold myself, and in the end I probably needed it more than she did. That being said, her teeth chattered and her lips, the soft tan color that they were, were a dangerous shade of blue and white.

And she was bleeding.

I furrowed my brow then.

"Hey, what happened to you?" I asked her, jogging after her.

"Like you care."

I made a "pff" noise.

"Fine, be that way. No skin off my back. Just get us out of here."

She complied. Silently.

Which was a change.

I didn't like it.

But when we arrived at Bao-Dur, she bent to check on him and yelled out in a way I'd never heard her yell out before. Her right arm folded into her side like a wounded wing, and she grimaced as I moved around her urgently.

Part of me wanted to repress this urge.

She, after all, was the dumb bimbo who kept falling out of places, making me worried – though of course if anybody ever asked me if I was I'd roll my eyes and sneer.

_Yeah right_, I'd say. _As if. Worried about a _Jedi _of all things_.

But something beyond my spitefulness that was tinted with just a hint of possessive masculinity couldn't ignore this cry for help.

"Let me see," I told her firmly.

I hated that when I was concerned I just sounded mildly angry. She was good at talking to people though, good at talking to me and dealing with my shit. If I had any sense, I'd be better to her. Or just keep her at arm's length.

But nobody have ever accused me of being wise, least of all the hag.

"Don't _touch_ me," she snapped, swatting my hands away.

In the last second before she turned away, I saw in her eyes – so expressive and vibrant – the fear and discomfort she had with the prospect.

"So a guy gets a little too handsy," I remarked, laughing a little sheepishly. "Big deal. No need to hold a grudge."

But, still, I felt bad.

"That's only because _you _are the hands and _I _am the body," she snapped. "You know, this is so _typical_ of you, making your bad behavior some kind of joke."

"What can I say?" I asked her. "Nobody ever said I was a good guy."

"Whatever, just leave me alone."

She stormed away from me.

"Hey, wait up," I called after her.

She was going after Kreia.

"Maybe you should wait here," she told me coldly over her shoulder.

"Look, I'm sorry I pissed you off, princess, I really am."

It sounded like a joke, I realized. Everything I said did. It was just so easy to fall into it that I hadn't even realized I'd begun again. It actually frustrated me because now I didn't know how to talk without sounding like I was joking.

That struck me with unease.

"Did you even hear me?" I asked her.

And now I sounded angry. Great. Just great.

Very smooth.

I ground my teeth as she just huffed around me, never meeting my eyes.

"Sure you are," she said dismissively. "Now shut up and see if Kreia is alive."

I hesitated for a moment before begrudgingly leaning down to feel the woman's pulse. I resisted a chill when my fingers contacted her jugular, and I was disappointed to learn that she was alive. I told Neli this.

"Good," she said, glancing back at Bao-Dur.

Her mouth was tight with a scowl, and she looked at anything but me.

Part of me considered only just now that maybe I'd actually really screwed up.

"Hey," I said to her.

Without thinking, her eyes flitted into mine.

I sucked in a breath. What I saw there was not anguish or anger but shame. That was a strange reaction to our little misadventure back in the station. It was not what I had expected – and it was definitely far from what I would have wanted.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably.

"About before," I tried to say, but she just held up her hand.

"No," she said shortly. "Not here. Not now."

"Then _when_?" I asked her, feeling irritated.

"I don't know. Not know."

She circled and I detected something else in her voice, something I'd actually never heard before.

_Fear_.

"You know, I don't know what we're going to find here. I don't know what this means, but I _feel_ something that's crazy. I hate that part, you know? The feeling of wrong things when it's inconvenient. Do you know what I mean?"

She glanced up at me, but after a moment she just groaned.

"Of course you don't!" she went on rambling. "Why would I ask you? Your just some smarmy jerk who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of me every chance he gets."

"I _said_ I was _sorry_!"

"And now we have to go down there," she said, as if I hadn't spoken. "And the droids – the assassin droids…"

I looked where she was looking now and saw an array of droids, dispatched in a pile. Snow was already accumulating over their unalive corpses.

"This isn't good," she said to the air, pacing. "I don't understand this, but it isn't good. If she sees me, if this is the right thing, I…"

She looked down at herself and sighed, as if she was a mess. She glanced up at me once and seemed to realize herself.

My mouth ran away with itself.

"Hey, uh, sorry, I guess," I offered.

It was lame, even for my standards, and I don't think it could have sounded less sincere if I'd tried to make it.

"Apology _not_ accepted, Atton," she snapped instantly, stalking past me to a gate I'd noticed during her tirade.

"Gee, that's great," I said sardonically. "You sounded like you really _mulled_ it over."

"Didn't need to," she called from over her shoulder.

"Exile," a voice from behind us said.

We glanced back in unison, and Kreia was making her way tiredly to her feet.

"Do not venture to this place without me present. It would be most unwise."

The scowl she threw at the woman was not lost on me, but we fell in step behind her, as the two of us always did. This time, I chose to remain silent.

She went over to the door. It was metal and small, like a spaceship door, and she ducked to meet it. She made a fist and knocked against it when it did not open.

Nothing happened.

"Well, this is just perfect," I quipped.

"Shut up," she said, but not as meanly as she could have.

I just smirked.

Winning her back over already.

She knocked again, and this time the door slid open. Within, there was a ramp, long and dark, leading further into the plateau we'd crashed on.

She breathed in. She breathed out.

"I don't want to go in there," she said to the air.

"Do not be foolish," Kreia reprimanded. "The Ebon Hawk is within. We must retrieve it. And there are answers here that you need."

Neli's mouth formed a thin line in annoyance and fear. I felt annoyed too. I didn't like the woman pronounced the name of our ship.

Even _that_ sounded pretentious and judgmental.

"But what if I don't want answers?" Neli asked.

"Don't be foolish," Kreia repeated. "You no longer have any choice in the matter."

Neli scowled.

"Like hell I don't," she snapped. "I've gotten lost. Why do I need to be found again?"

"Found?" Kreia asked with just a hint of that disdain she had in her voice for me. "Child, you've already been discovered by the Republic. Who else is it that you fear?"

Neli stiffened.

"Well, I thought that was obvious," she said quietly.

"You have nothing to fear from the Jedi here," Kreia replied.

And that was what set me on edge.

Jedi.

Here.

More than Neli.

More than one.

I began to feel uneasy too.

"What _kind_ of Jedi?" I asked.

"As if you would grasp the distinction, fool," Kreia spat at me.

"Hey, I'm just thinking ahead. If Neli thinks it isn't good, then –"

"Neli, as you call her, is operating on misguided fears based upon shame that has no basis in reality," Kreia snapped pointedly. "There is no use discussing this. We must enter now or our companion will surely perish in the snow."

Neli glanced back at Bao-Dur and sighed uneasily.

"Okay, let's go," she whispered, almost to herself.

She ducked beneath the door and made her way down the ramp. We followed suit. The passage that followed looked organized and clean. Too clean. It reeked of organization and pride, two qualities I found I hated in the war.

Beyond us, it was dark.

Until three women, all white haired, beautiful, and pale stepped into the light we ourselves stood in.

The one in the middle looked at all of us, each of us, and her eyes spoke volumes about who she was. She was arrogant, which would probably make it easier to pin her down in a fight. Her lips upturned with disgust, most prominently at Neli.

And out of the corner of my eye, I sensed Neli _squirming_ in a way I'd never seen her do before.

I didn't know what this place was or what it meant to her, but it wasn't good. She held these people in high regard, and the fact that they judged her harshly was unacceptable to me. They surely had _no_ idea what Neli had been through. None of us did.

Not even me.

Especially not me.

The reminder of this sent me into a defensive rage, and I found it difficult to breathe as this same beautiful white haired woman sent that vicious sneer flying into Neli's resolve. Neli cracked a little bit, pulling at the edges of her light brown sleeves nervously. She moved her hands over her figure once, straightening her shirt, flattening her impossible curly hair – to no avail of course.

I felt angry that Neli felt inadequate.

But this, too, made me uncomfortable, and I knew I had to shove it. If we were surrounded by Jedi, they'd all want to kill me – slowly. I'd deserve no less.

And I knew I had to ignore my desire to keep Neli close in favor of simply making it out alive.

"Lay down your weapons, and you shall not be harmed," the woman said to Neli.

Neli was afraid. I saw it in the way her body spoke to me, and it was alarming how much I'd learned to read the subtle nuances of her movements. She clenched and unclenched her fingers, and I felt her itching to reach for a lightsaber that was never there.

"I'm _not_ giving up my weapons," she replied, her voice expertly level.

When she trained that voice on me, unaffected, unburdened by the qualms of the world around her, I hated it. It drove me crazy not knowing what she was thinking or feeling, and I knew I had to be looking at her head on to really get a clear understanding.

But, in the face of our enemies, I _loved_ that she could do that, and I found myself smirking winningly. Almost as if to say, _ha ha, you lose_.

"I will not warn you again," the white haired woman said. "Drop your weapons, or we shall take them from you."

Neli snorted.

"Hear this, Atton?" she asked conversationally, shooting me a playful smirk. "These jokers think they're going to take our weapons from us."

Something proud inside of me screamed with joy that she felt comfortable enough to joke with me at a time like this.

"Guess they're not fans of having their heads stay attached to their bodies," I quipped.

She tilted her head at me a little.

"Couldn't think of a less morbid taunt?" she muttered out of the side of her mouth.

Her accent was glorious here, and I couldn't restrain a smile.

"I don't know," I muttered back, glancing at the three. "Just go with it."

"No one disarms me," she said, louder now.

And I felt so _proud_ that she could sound like that, with that tone that made me want to fight by her, even when I knew she was quaking inside.

"You are incorrect," the woman said.

She rose her hands to fight, and something in her eyes set an alarm off in my head.

She would win.

And worse.

Neli would lose.

A flare of anger lit inside of me as I dropped into a stance, but Kreia interrupted the conflict before it could begin.

"Do as they say," the old hack whispered. "I sense we will come to no harm."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather not bet my life on one of your _senses_, witch," I snapped.

"Do it now, Atton, or she will be killed."

Something about this premonitory warning stilled me, and I glanced at Neli for direction. She sighed heavily, nodding to me, and, scowling, I threw my gun to the floor along next to hers.

"Fine," I said. "There's my blaster. Happy?"

"Come with us," the white haired woman said. "And do not try to resist. We will kill you if necessary."

We fell in line behind the triad of women, I in-step with Neli, who now looked, if it were possible, even paler than she had outside in the cold. She still shivered, and I found myself trying to catch her eye. She did look at me, and that fear she'd felt was now back in full view.

"You alright?" I asked her, looking around.

This place…something about it. I didn't like it. I _really_ didn't like it.

She didn't seem to either.

"No," she whispered to me.

Just as the women turned back to us.

"You two," a second woman said. "In there."

She extended a long finger into a room with four force cages. I scowled.

"Like hell I'm getting back in a cage just like that."

"You will or we will make you."

Sighing, I made to whisper some sarcastic comment when I realized Neil was being led away.

"Hey, where's she going?"

"That is none of your business, stranger," the white haired women stated. "But the Jedi has business with our mistress."

"Hey, wait!"

Fear burst through me like a disease, and it didn't stop. Not then.

"She will come to no harm with us," the white haired woman said, less hostilely now.

Her eyes, however, trained knowingly on me.

"You, though, would do well not to test us too much. We have been trained to fight styles like yours."

I stiffened at this, glancing at Neli's back. I'd never told her I'd been trained. Had it been that obvious?

Idiot.

But she didn't appear to have heard. I was grateful.

"Fine, fine," I said warily, stepping into the room with the cages.

It was, somehow, colder than the previous room.

"But I'm not happy about it."

"We neither need – nor want – your happiness. Just your compliance and your respect."

"Don't count on it," I muttered under my breath.

The woman appeared to have heard nothing, and, just like that, I was in jail again.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: So, sorry, everyone! I'm having trouble this summer with a wrist injury, making typing...bad. But I am trying. I have not forgotten. I promise. I do think it makes my writing a little stilted since I'm not in "writing" mode and instead in "pain" mode. *shrugs* I guess I'm not the judge of that though.**

**Thank you for any and all continued support.**

* * *

><p>There were some things that a person just never forgets.<p>

The way a lightsaber felt on the hip of your choice – mine was my left. I held it with my right hand, but my form had always been terrible. That was what Revan had said made my style so dangerous. I was volatile, technically unskilled, and unpredictable – it made me deadly. I had not forgotten the itch to grab it. The warmth of it in my fingers. I could clearly remember the small thrill inside of your stomach that came with the ecstasy of learning to do something incredible or useful with it.

It was impossible to forget that terrible, whooping sensation that came with a lecture from your master. There was always a spark of indignation, reigned in with layer after layer of awe, respect, and reverence. Masters had a way about them. You listened when they spoke, even if you were insubordinate – which I was. And I had been on the business end of quite a few lectures.

But the most important thing that I had never forgotten, that I had been trying to forget ever since I'd been through it, was that feeling of going to meet your fate.

I'd faced mine after the Mandalorian Wars when I'd been exiled. I'd climbed the hundreds of steps to the highest towers of the Council Chambers emotionlessly, in a trance-like state, feeling an impending sense of doom take me. It was a stark contrast to the sensation I had had when summoned before the Wars. I'd been honored. Even to be noticed by the High Council was an honor.

Going to meet them after Malachor was just something close to dread, but with less fear. Resignation might have been closer.

And yet, my feet never faltered. I had never wavered, never hesitated. When I'd been summoned on the Cruiser that had picked us all up after that, when I'd been summoned, I'd nodded complacently. I didn't resist once, knowing that I had to accept the consequences of the decisions that I had made. I'd landed on Coruscant and made my way directly to the Temple, familiar to me and yet different than I had left it. I'd lived on Dantooine for most of my life, but a Jedi's life was never stationary. I knew the Temples on Coruscant and Dantooine as well as I knew my own hands.

And so, knowing the way, my legs and feet had foolishly taken me up into that northwestern tower to face my doom.

The way I was on in the present felt like something sort of close to that. The handmaidens had escorted me into a tall, silvery chamber, pointing wordlessly for me to proceed on without them. I sensed something terrible, something awful at the end. Not something I ever wanted to encounter again. Something painfully familiar. I knew who was waiting for me at the end of my walk.

Like I said, some things – some feelings – were impossible to forget. They had a signature, of sorts, in the Force, and _hers_ was unmistakable.

The chamber around me echoed as my steps brought me across a bridge that spanned across a cavernous pit. I saw the high doors of a towering Archive in the backset of the far wall open and close, and I saw at first a very small person with white hair and pallid skin moving towards me.

I took a deep breath in and then out. I was frightened of seeing her again, and I was not ashamed to admit it. It would be strange encountering somebody who knew me so well before my sentencing. There were very few people left who could claim that right.

Eventually, that person grew, and we met in the middle somewhere.

We stood there, facing each other. My knees shook, and I stood almost at attention, my hands twisted behind my back into a stance I hoped would help me look stronger and more confident than I felt. I was unsettled by her presence, not in that she was physically scary.

No, I was frightened because of the way she was looking at me.

Her lips, always warmer than the daunting look that always haunted her blue eyes, were twisted into a scowl that was just as hateful as the last time I had seen her. Her hair was longer, still white. Her eyes were blue, a light, silvery blue, somehow darker than I'd remembered them. She was taller than I remembered. Her breasts had filled in, and so had her hips. I guess we both had.

She looked mature. Every bit my equal.

She spoke first, and I winced as every syllable bored their way into me as harshly as she could make them.

"I did not expect to see you again after the day of your sentencing," she snapped.

I was silent, but I raised my palms up from my sides, almost in a shrug, and I tried to brave a smile that was very close to nostalgic.

She'd always been the one to reprimand me, keep me in check. But back then, the exasperation had been kind, maybe even affectionate. We'd been close friends, like sisters. She had been the first person to help me with Basic, back on Coruscant when we'd first arrived to the Order. Before we'd both been transferred to Dantooine for "behavioral therapy," she for anger issues, me, for fostering too much intimacy with Helo.

With Revan.

I'd known her before either of us had an inkling of who or what Darth Revan was or could be.

It made me so sad to see that scowl turned into something so hateful, so malicious. She had never hated me like that before. It was a small but painful barb that had reemerged through the growth inside of me that caused this to hurt my chest.

"I thought you had taken the exile's path, wandering the galaxy."

She exaggerated her words sarcastically, as if this was a laughable concept.

When she herself had been part of my sentencing.

A tendril of anger reached out from my center, but I quelled it at the accusatory look in her eyes. I'd forgotten what it felt like to be recognized this way all over again. It was one thing to have others look on you and know you. People, civilians, they were mostly very ignorant of the Wars. They heard the word "Jedi" and their eyes alit with fear and anger.

But other Jedi? And, beyond that, other Jedi who knew you? Who were bonded with you? Who were practically sisters to you?

It was beyond discomfort. Fear of judgment of the acutest kind, begrudging respect, resentment, they all piled high inside of my chest to form this mountain of conflicting emotions that I found very, very difficult to control.

Again, she'd always been good at keeping that part of me in check.

Then, the Wars happened.

Then, my exile happened.

Now, we were here, and there was no check to be had. And, with the reemergence of the Force inside of me, I felt so weak to control it that I was sure my fumbling control would lose their grip at any moment.

So I breathed in. I breathed out.

"Just get to the point, Atris," I snapped.

"_Fine_. You have returned," Atris replied waspishly. "Why?"

"Tell me what you've done with my friends first," I ordered, daring to take a step forward.

Atris took a step back, as if my proximity reviled her. The effect had its intended consequence. I stopped. But the revilement in her face had not been expected. Again, I did a once over of my dirty and disheveled appearance, feeling inadequate and pinched between two sharp tongs.

Atris didn't notice, and if she did, she didn't seem to care.

"You're concern is _noted_, exile," she snapped. "Though to call them friends, I think, may be an overstatement."

I clenched my teeth together.

"What would you know about it?" I snapped at her. "Just tell me where they are."

"You are in no position to be ordering me around, _Exile_."

"Exile?" I asked. "Come on, Atris. We both know you remember my name."

"Believe me, I wish that I didn't."

"So malicious," I quipped, hiding the sadness that bit at my heart. "Are you still so angry?"

"I will _never_ forget what you have done – to the Council! To _me_!"

There was a long silence, and I suddenly wished that I'd never been born. I longed for absolution, which I'd dreamt of for years, and, peering tearfully into her eyes, I knew I had not yet earned it. I didn't know what I would have to do to earn it. I didn't think there was anything I could do.

But it made me ache terribly to know that the best friend I had ever had was no gone, lost to me forever because of a choice I had made and she had not. I'd done what she had never had the courage to do.

She hated me.

Maybe, if we hadn't been close, this wouldn't be so hard now.

I pursed my lips.

"Can you just tell me where my friends are, Atris?" I whispered to her, fighting back tears with everything I had.

She seemed to be doing the same. The wavering quality of her voice shook me to the core. It still upset me that I had upset her.

"They have not been harmed," she said to me. "They have been detained, for their safety."

"For _their_ safety?" I repeated, snorting. "Your slaves came and tried to attack us. The only things we need protection is from _them_."

She ignored me pointedly, instead just searching my face for something that her eyes told me she couldn't find.

"I find it…unusual…that you are traveling with others again," she admitted begrudgingly. "I had thought you had forsaken the company of others after the war. Or is that why you are here? To come back to me? To beg forgiveness? Because you cannot have what you have not earned."

Again, the anger rose up.

_What do you know of earning, Atris? _I thought bitterly, squeezing my fists. _What do you know of _pain?

But I said nothing of this. Instead, I just made a "pf" kind of noise that I thought Atton would have been proud of.

"It was certainly not my intention to come here, Atris – or see you again. I didn't even know you were here. So I can't have been coming to ask for your forgiveness."

"Yet here you are," she said snidely. "Though, I must say, I find it awfully hard to believe that this has all happened by…what might you call it? Chance? Perhaps you do not know yourself as well as you think."

Her tone, her very attitude, frustrated me. It had, after all, been _ten_ years.

I'd hoped to have at least earned part of my redemption.

It was evident that this was not the case.

"Your arrival begs an explanation, Exile," she spat. "Have you come to face the judgment of the Council, as you did so many years ago? Are you finally willing to admit that we were _right_ to cast you out?"

I clenched my jaw, unable to hide tears from my eyes.

"_Right_?" I shot back loudly. "You think it was _right_? Do you have _any_ idea what I've been through, Atris? Do you even care?"

"Have _you_ learned nothing from your time in solitude?" she asked, sidestepping the question. "Or perhaps you weren't even alone. Maybe you've been with people this whole time. It would be like you to bend the rules."

I just gaped at her for a few moments.

"Atris, I was _hunted_ every _day_ for being _alive_!" I shouted at her.

"As – was – I!" she shot back, advancing on me.

"Yes, but I didn't have the glorious tit that is the Jedi Council to fall back on!"

A hand came out of nowhere, and she struck me across the face.

"HOW DARE YOU!" she shouted. "HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT THE ONLY ORDER YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN!"

"BUT I DIDN'T KNOW THEM!" I shrieked back, instantly revved up. "DON'T YOU GET IT! PEOPLE WERE BEING _SLAUGHTERED_, ATRIS! OR DOESN'T THAT MATTER? YOU STILL DON'T EVEN CARE?"

"YOU SOUGHT ADVENTURE, YOU HUNGERED FOR BATTLE! YOU COULD NOT _WAIT_ TO FOLLOW REVAN TO WAR!"

I was deafened by the hatred in her voice, by the sheer rage. The glint in her eye was dangerous, and tears were in her eyes too as the two of us just stood there, staring at each other, crying. The only difference was, there wasn't a hint of remorse in her. Not a smidgeon of regret or sadness or even pity.

Just indifference and spite.

"He was not Revan then!" I said passionately, but quietly, trying to reel it in. "His name…was Helo…and he was _your_ friend too."

But my tears betrayed me. Not only did I desire her forgiveness, but, seeing her again now, I realized, with the despair of a thousand heartbreaks, that I wanted it so badly that it hurt.

"He was a Ki'ili," I argued, "not a Revan."

"Yes, a name I've heard you've started using. How…_appropriate_."

"You can _shut up_!" I snapped. "If you think you know anything, you're _wrong_! You don't get to judge me anymore, Atris! You and I are no longer the same!"

She just searched my face, and I could just _see_ the gears working behind her eyes.

"The Jedi Order asked only for _time_ to examine the Mandalorian threat," she finally said, as if the mere thought had come out through a thicket of resentment. "They urged caution, patience. And _you_ defied them! _Why_?"

"Do you _hear_ yourself, Atris?" I asked her, raising my hands in entreaty. "People were _dying _while you sat back on your seats in the northwest tower and thought, rubbing your chins. We are supposed to defend honor! We were supposed to bring peace!"

"You were wrong," she said dismissively, as if she'd had this argument with me in her head a thousand times. "You _are_ wrong, as you always have been."

I just stood there in silence, feeling that rehashed despair grasp onto me like a drowning animal. If I'd never come to the Order, I would never feel the way I did now. I would never have met Atris, never have caused her so much pain, never have endured everything that I'd endured.

It would be all different.

"There is much about that day that was difficult to forget," she told me almost pensively, as if it were hard for _her_.

I ground my teeth.

"And when you stabbed your lightsaber into the center stone," she mused.

And, with a vicious smirk, she pulled her hand from her side and twirled the lightsaber into life. A silverish blue light burst from the hilt that I'd covered in a green, hardy cloth when it had gotten damaged in the war. Just seeing it again, not in pictures, but seeing a real, live lightsaber again, one that was not red and one that was not attacking me, brought tears to my eyes. It was mine.

I used to call it "this old thing."

And when people would ask about it or threaten me, I'd just whip it out and ask, "What are you looking at? Oh, this old thing?"

It made me ache to see it again, almost as if it was a pet that had been mine that was now in the possession of somebody that I loathed. It looked dirty beside Atris, all in white, pale skin, white hair. Everything about it as it hummed in her hands looked and felt wrong to me, and that tendril of rage rose up once more.

"That is _my_ lightsaber," I hissed at her, narrowing my eyes. "You have _no_ claim to it."

"On the contrary, I have every right. I am still a Jedi. You are not."

This, more than the lightsaber twirl itself, seemed like a thumb to my nose. I was so angry that it became hard to breathe.

At this point, the grudge she held and exhibited seemed petty. Frivolous.

Stupid.

We'd been such close friends. I was devastated that it all meant so little to her. I was who I was in large part because of her. My old friend was not the woman who stood before me now.

"Why have you kept it?" I snapped at her. "After all this time?"

"So I would never forget your arrogance or your _insult_ to the Order."

I made another "pf" noise.

"Insult to the Order? You _insult_ me by carrying it."

We began to argue then, argue in earnest.

She flung insult after insult at me. I'd met aggression with aggression. I was an impatient fool who'd thrown her life away. I was no better than the Mandalorians who'd started the conflict.

That final insult reverberated off and around the walls and through the cavern, and as soon as she said it I retracted. Both of us were breathless from shouting and screaming, and my throat felt raw as tears rushed, unabashedly, out of my eyes. We were nose to nose, so close that I could feel her harsh, ragged breathing against my cheeks.

And I couldn't stop it anymore.

My hand flew back and I slapped her hard across the face now, crying out as I did so with all the anger and hurt she'd woken up from my heart yet again.

Atris yelled out at this, but stood tall again just as fast.

It was a fresh start for a new argument, and I realized how far we'd gotten sidetracked.

"I did not come here to argue with you," she whispered to me coldly. "Why are you here?"

"Some pretentious schutta stole my ship," I replied after a while, just barely able to breathe. "Wasn't you, was it?"

"Ah…" she said. "Your 'ship.' It is not your ship. Unless you are admitting to the destruction of the Peragus mining facility."

I looked away for just a moment. She knew my guilt before I even had to act on it, and the knowing condescension in her gaze riled me in all the wrong ways. The tears didn't stop now, but I didn't bother to wipe them.

"It was an accident," I ground at her.

"Ah…" she repeated. "An _accident_. Hm. Something beyond your control. You have not changed. Acting instead of thinking."

"But you _have_ changed, Atris," I snapped, feeling that well of disappointment and hurt rise up in my chest with every intake of oxygen.

She snarled at this.

"Do you know what you have done?"

I couldn't look away from her. She'd somehow learned that Jedi trick we'd always hated, that gaze that told you to look them in the eyes, even if it wasn't going to deliver good news.

I'd always _hated_ that. She had too, before.

"Ruin yourself with your actions if you will, but when your actions bring harm to others, then you must answer for it. Your crimes are unforgivable."

I clenched my fists.

"_My _crimes?" I nearly shouted. "Are you going to let me explain what happened first or are you now my executioner?"

"So insolent," she drawled out. "Fine. What is this pointless drivel about?"

"The _Sith_ destroyed Peragus, not me."

Now, she looked like I'd wanted her to look this whole time. Shocked. Impressed.

Back to the Atris I'd known.

I saw the intelligence behind her eyes light up with caution but also enthusiasm as she made to address this claim.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"The Sith came for me on Peragus to kill me."

She just searched my face again, her mouth a thin line.

"They can't have been looking for _you_."

I scowled deeply.

"Do you have so little faith in me, Atris? I have never lied to you."

"Why would they be looking for you?" she continued thoughtfully, staring into space, as if deep in thought. "You are not a Jedi."

That, more than anything, was so obviously not the point.

"And you are?" I shouted. "Hiding away behind mountains of snow and archives of datacrons? How is _that_ the Jedi way?"

"I do not need your approval or understanding, _Neli_," she snapped. "Nor did I expect it. Though I do now expect an attack. You were surely followed."

"Like hell I was," I snapped back. "Remember? We were very kindly met with the welcome wagon on the way down. If we were followed, they'd have been here by now. It's been almost an hour."

She pursed her lips, and I swallowed my pride, eager to please, desperate for her acceptance.

"They're coming for all Jedi, Atris," I warned apprehensively. "Whatever you do, please just know that."

"Yes," she said seriously. "I am aware of the intentions of the Sith and have been for some time. This is why I am living here, on Telos, to rebuild the lost Order."

Scorn came at this, but it wasn't the right place or the right time. All I felt was desperation for her to look at me, to smile at me, to even _look_ sad or regretful.

"If you refuse to believe they came for me," I whispered, "at least let me help find others who might be able to help you."

I sighed heavily.

"I might have done a bad thing in the past, but I need you to believe that I didn't do it to hurt you. I'm really sorry you took it so personally. Let me help with this. I can help."

She crossed her arms and turned away from me.

"Whether you like it or not, Atris," I urged, "I'm part of this now. They know my face. They know my name – and my ship. I'd rather die fighting than die in my sleep. And I might as well die trying to help you."

She snorted.

"You offer your _aid_?" she asked mockingly. "After turning your back on me – on the Council?"

Oh, but that slip was telling, and I just stared at her, feeling weak, feeling sad, feeling wounded.

"Fine," she spat after an extended silence. "There are others in the galaxy who may bolster our defenses. If you find them, encourage them to gather on Dantooine. From there, we can call a Council and see what can be done."

She'd turned her back on me now, putting my lightsaber wrongly back on her hip, and she turned her head over her shoulder.

"Now, take your ship – and when the storm clears…you can get out of here."

She began to walk away, leaving me standing there, feeling stunned and tired and so disappointed I could cry.

I did not even look at the handmaidens as they came to meet me. I followed them obediently back through the chambers we'd entered by, my head and my spirit dragging so low that I was sure they would detach from my body altogether.


	23. Chapter 23

By the time I was back in the energy cell, I felt angry all over again. Angry like I'd been angry back at that base, back when I'd put my hand all over Neli's body like a drunken schutta.

The only difference was, now there wasn't even any Neli to look at. I realized with no meager amount of frustration that the absence of her was unpleasant. She was easy on the eyes, and challenging company. She engaged me constantly like nobody had in the past.

People usually got fed up and kicked me out by now. Admittedly, I'd openly told her I would do the same the moment I got the chance, but there was something strange and uncomfortable about it now.

I saw the way her shoulders had been slumped over, the look of panic in her eyes when we'd entered. She was just as frightened as I was. It made me want to be near her – not near these two degenerates.

Bao-Dur had been dragged in by his ankles, shoved into a cell on the far wall. The handmaidens had made quick work of his injuries, patching him using kolto and leaving him to sleep there, unconscious. That left just me and the scow.

Me and the _witch_.

She was sitting with her legs crossed, hands on either knee, eyes closed, scowling into her own blackness as much as she scowled at me.

I found my eyes wandering around, swallowing hard when all I saw was walls and a bunch of women. They _weren't_ ugly, either, and I tried to entice myself with them before realizing that this pursuit was fruitless right now.

This was the last place I wanted to be. If there was anybody here would made Neil afraid, I didn't want to meet them. I just wanted to leave.

Especially if it meant other Jedi.

But I had to get out of my own head for fear I too would panic the way I saw Neli panicking, and that meant I had nobody else to complain to.

"Why is it that everywhere we go I end up in a cell?" I snapped at the old lady.

I realized too late after I'd spoken that fear permeated every aspect of my voice. I corrected myself immediately.

"I mean…why did they lock us up?" I clarified nervously, glancing sidelong at the woman. "What is this place?"

Kreia, of course, answered.

"It is a training ground," was her reply. "For Jedi."

My heart thumped loudly in my chest, and I found myself bobbing around restlessly, feeling an intense urge to just _move_.

It was what I'd been afraid of. Now confirmed, I had a bad taste in my mouth, near the back of my tongue. It became difficult to swallow, and I squeezed and unsqueezed my hands.

"What?" I asked, packing in my tiny cell. "This ice hole?"

"Yes," she answered slowly, in that infuriating way of hers, "it bears the semblance of an academy…but where are the students? Curious…"

I wanted her to be wrong. Earnestly, sincerely, I hoped that she was wrong. I _needed _her to be wrong. Because I'd vowed never to look at or talk to or think about Jedi of any kind of ever again.

Well, there was Neli, but she didn't really count. Did she?

It didn't feel like it.

My voice only sounded more fearful by the second, but I couldn't do anything to stop it. With Neli gone, the crone prattling at my side, and Bao-Dur, the only other capable soldier in the bunch, I was practically on my own. In a prison cell. Being held by the very people I knew would hate me the most.

"You've got to be joking," I said uneasily. "What is a Jedi Academy doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"It is a place hidden from the galaxy, like the academy on Dantooine. But this place…oh, Atris, you have been clever."

Kreia's cryptic ways grated on me more than usual, and I found my heartbeat running away fast as she snapped,

"It's none of your concern."

I just swallowed.

"Well, the sooner we're outta here, the better," I said. "Two crazy Jedi are more than enough for me. No one told me we were going to be dumped in a nest of Jedi."

Kreia stiffened now.

My palms began to sweat. Something was wrong. I had a feeling. It was a bad one.

She stood up, turned, and faced me directly, those blind, blackened eyes peering down at me with a patronizing scowl.

"And what is it about this place that causes you such fear?"

I wanted to laugh, but we were past that now.

I felt like an animal who had been caught in a trap of a larger predator. There could be no going back now.

But I had to try.

"What do you mean?" I asked nervously, shifting my weight from side to side. "We're in the middle of a bunch of Jedi. You know how they are."

She pursed her lips and said nothing, but the look on her face was louder than anything she could have said.

"No, I do not," she said to me slowly. "At least, not in the way you seem to."

Then, there was _pain_. Something cold and slimy and overwhelmingly black began to darken my vision as I felt something that was inexplicably but undeniably _her_ reach forward to tear into my head. Flashes of pictures and noises, memories, tore through my eyes as reality faded away.

But I fought. Hard. Angrily.

With bitter determination.

I saw a woman. A miraluka. I'd never learned her name, but I'd seen her in combat. She was the first Jedi I'd ever met. I remembered how powerful she looked in battle next to me. She'd been flown in to influence the battle. We'd won.

This picture faded away as I saw a man now, a Cathar. He was merciless in battle, and I remembered how angry I was when we all realized he was throwing us in the way of our enemies to make sure his battle plans succeeded.

More and more like this, memories from the war, memories of Jedi and of everything else.

I knew what she would find. I couldn't let it happen.

I heard my voice in the background fade away, even as I thought as hard as I could for her to get out of my head.

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" I managed to shout, bringing my hands to my temples with the pain of this.

I'd never felt anything like this before, so desolate, so black.

It hurt unimaginably as I saw another picture of a Jedi. This one was just a flash, but there was blood in this one. A _lot_ of blood. I remembered the sensations of its stickiness on my hands as I rubbed them together. There was so much of it that I remembered feeling nauseous.

This was gruesome.

I kept these memories locked away so tightly. I hadn't allowed myself to remember. Kreia had no right, none at all.

Kreia couldn't be doing this. She couldn't be in my head.

She couldn't be prying into me like this.

She was _cheating_.

"Stop struggling," she urged me, almost sympathetically. "Let me follow the current, deep…deeper…to its source."

"Stop!" I heard my voice whisper weakly.

I tried to speak, but I couldn't.

Because there were only pictures now.

"Ah…" I heard her whisper to me telepathically.

She looked down through my eyes at a woman, a Zabrak, who I'd just struck with a blunt instrument. My memories of her were…sickeningly vivid. I wanted to push her out of my head, but I didn't know how.

She was completely in control now.

"There is mingled guilt…" she whispered into my head. "It squirms in you like a worm. And the why…"

Then, Kreia saw _her_.

As clearly as if she was standing before me, I saw through my eyes the fruits of all of my labors with the last Jedi I'd ever met. A human woman. She was sliced so heavily that it was hard to see softness on her skin. Her pale skin was white now in death, and her eyes, also dead, were a grayish color. Her red hair was caked with blood, matted like the fur of an animal.

"Jaq…" her voice whispered.

I felt myself wanting to blubber like a baby in the present, feeling so helpless I'd rather have killed myself than relive this again. Worse, reliving it and knowing Kreia was seeing it.

"Are you going to tell me what I need to know?" my voice asked her.

Every breath was a labor for her, and my chest tightened then and now as I listened to the wheezing emanating from her tired chest.

"No…" she whispered.

She hung her head to the side, and smirked.

She always did that. To the last. Smiling, smirking, joking. No malice, no hatred.

She mumbled something, and I remembered struggling to hear, strangely desperate to hear.

"Come again?" my voice asked her.

"You…in danger…" she managed weakly, eyes closed.

I made a "psh" kind of noise.

"Don't pretend like you know me, Jedi," my voice snapped at her indignantly.

Then, I felt Kreia manipulating my memories, pushing past this, pushing through them, until, all at once, as if she'd been fast-forwarding through my life, I felt both of us pause. There she was again, so close to death that it was indecent to keep her alive, but I had like the sick bastard I was.

Looking at her was different than the first time. I knew now that it was because time had passed. I'd gotten to know her.

I loved her.

"Kill me…Inquisitor…" she whispered.

Tearfully then, the me agreed.

She was propped against the far wall, bent over in a pool of her own blood. A singing hole in her forehead steamed in that cold room as the me from my memories stared at her, gun outstretched.

"And there is its heart," Kreia whispered.

As if falling back to the ground from a high distance, I came back to my body, to the present, feeling breathless. Tears were in my eyes as I whirled to face the old woman, terrible as she was, and I thrust my hand against the energy cage, ignoring the burns.

"You _bitch_!" I shouted, hitting the cage over and over.

She just smiled, laughing inwardly, as if she'd just seen a small child admit a wrongdoing. This was the exactly type of typical reaction I would have expected from a stupid, old bitch like her.

I thought of Neli.

Kreia would tell her.

Tears pierced my eyes as I pressed my palms to my forehead. That couldn't happen. That absolutely couldn't happen. I had to kill the woman. I had to. She had to die. Neli couldn't know. I couldn't face her if she did. And I wanted to face her.

That realization that it was harder without her in the same room struck me now, much harder than before. If she came back and Kreia told her everything, I'd be lost. I'd kill myself.

I had to. I had deceived her. She was afraid of me. I'd seen it in her eyes. If she knew, if she even _suspected_, what I'd done…

I shuddered.

"You surprise me," Kreia admitted, plowing through my panic. "I could not feel it before…your feelings are a powerful shield, indeed."

"When we get out of here," I breathed, rage in every particle of my being, "I am going to cut you open and _gut_ you like a fish!"

She merely laughed gently again.

"Do not worry, 'Atton,'" Kreia reassured, hand reaching up to her hip. "If she is a Jedi, she will forgive. And if she is not, she will not care."

I just breathed, just looking at her, feeling utterly helpless. So powerless. So much less of a man than I ever had before.

Neli couldn't know. It was impossible. I had to prevent it. I would do anything.

"You can't tell her!" I finally burst out, dropping to my knees with my hands beating against the energy cage again, more desolately and helplessly this time. "_Please_…I'm _asking_ you! _Please_!"

She said nothing to me, and I felt like I couldn't talk. I couldn't function. I just felt desperation as I had never before.

So my mouth took over.

"I don't want her to –"

"—think _less_ of you?" Kreia finished mockingly. "I _hardly_ think that's possible."

My body felt so much pain that I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was dying. But that was okay because then Neli wouldn't know anything. Probably work out better for her anyway.

"Still," Kreia said slowly, clearly reveling in my desperation, "there is no shame in what you ask. We all wage war with the past. And it leaves its scars. I will not speak of yours, Atton, but there is a price for such things."

I opened my mouth now, absolutely appalled by how cruel this woman was. I'd been so sure she was just harmlessly senile and waspish – not evil. Not harsh, not like this.

"What price?" I asked her roughly.

"You know how important this woman we travel with is – even one such as you can feel it."

It was true. My heart beat now to keep Neli from knowing about me. And why? Because she mattered. And I was worried that it would break her.

No, not worried.

Desperate.

Terrified.

It couldn't happen – because I valued her.

My head fell as I realized it, feeling defeated, feeling as if all of my petty efforts to keep her away from me were for nothing.

"You will serve her," Kreia ordered forcefully, "until I release you."

My hands dropped to the ground, and I was on all fours, breathing, staring at the ground in shame and rage and hatred. It had once been a familiar position. I felt all over again how poisonous this was. I hated being under her wing, under her thumb. I hated feeling indebted to somebody.

I hated her so much I couldn't breathe.

"And if I refuse?" I managed to whisper.

"You will not," she said just as forcefully. "If you do, then my silence will be broken. And then, Atton, _you_ will be broken."

I curled my fingers against the cool metal of the bottom of the cage, physically recoiling against the pain of this thought.

"You fear the Jedi, and rightly so. If Atris learns of your…choices, you will never leave this place. And neither will Neli."

I swallowed, tensing up even further. I felt so fearful that I couldn't see or breathe. I couldn't barely even hear her. I just heard my heartbeat in my ears, my blood rushing through my neck and throat, my lungs expanding to let oxygen into my torso.

"But whatever fear you hold of the Jedi," Kreia continued threateningly, "know that if you disobey me that my punishment will make you _beg_ for the death that has long hounded you."

I shuddered and believed her.

She motioned with her hand and suddenly I felt an unnatural sense of peace.

"Wipe the fear from your mind. You will not find blind obedience a difficult Master…you chose it once. You will learn to embrace it again."

She knew I'd had a Master.

I threw myself from the ground, feeling anger once more.

"I don't know how you became such a manipulative _bitch_," I snapped, "but why a vicious old scow like yourself would even _bother_ with me is a bigger mystery!"

"No game of dejarik can be won without pawns," she said, sounding almost amused. "And _you_ are _my_ pawn, _Atton_."

I just stared at her, wishing I could strangle her, wishing she was dead, wishing I'd never met her. But then, I would never have met Neli. This thought, all by itself, seemed almost too terrible to dwell on. Because, really, what was I doing before I met her?

Wandering around, smuggling, wasting time - wasting away. Nothing productive.

All while Neli was desperately fighting for her life, as she had been for years and years and years. It made me hurt inside somehow, which was a sensation I really didn't enjoy.

It did get me to thinking though:

How could _I_ do anything for Kreia, Queen of the Damned? For Neli?

More and more, as Neli's foes had grown more and more dangerous, I'd been overwhelmed by the sensation of feeling horribly out of depth. This was bigger than me.

"I suspect the self-loathing that squirms within you gives you a curious strength," she said mockingly. "Your spirit, as diseased as it is, seems to refuse to allow you to give up. I feel you have crossed our paths for a reason. If so, your potential is not yet spent."

I just scowled at her, trying to breathe, trying just to realize how drastically this had taken a turn for the worse. I wanted to sound normal. I wanted to show her that I was brave.

"Fine," I spat. "I'll be your _pawn_. But I still think you've got the wrong guy."

"Perhaps," she said. "But someone needs to fly the ship."

And, just like that, I wasn't awake anymore.


	24. Chapter 24

**Hey, readers! I've _moved_! AND started the fall semester! AND have a wrist injury! Oh, and writer's block. Funny that. So, going has been slow. I know that. I am sorry. It's been on my mind, but I'm dissatisfied with the progress of the story. That is to say, I won't stop writing. I am writing. It's just not very quick.**

**I'd like to thank Ender Mahe for such long and detailed reviews! I'm sorry for the parts that have fallen short of your expectations, but I'm so glad to have your considerate and thorough responses. I'm sure it took a lot of time to write them all. =)**

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><p>In the end, I think, I am a bastion of inconsistency. I exist on a spectrum that holds two extremes on either end, and I find myself being pulled constantly in both directions. That was why Atris abhorred me, and that was why the Jedi had thrust me out so long ago.<p>

She'd said I had not changed, and she was right. Considering all I had gone through, I was merely a pawn of a larger scheme, somebody else's. The Force, maybe, was guiding my hand. Or Kreia's.

Thoughts of her filled me with strange and unpleasant shudders, and I had to resist the scowl that was building on my face when I knew I would see her so soon again. And yet, when I was around her, I was…complacent.

I was afraid of her.

She knew it too, which was why I knew she flitted in and out of my consciousness inconveniently. She knew I would do nothing to stop her. I was braver from a place further away than I was right in front of her. That was why in my head I could tell her off. Face to face was different. She had the same air about her that a Jedi Master had. She made you want to bow, and when she spoke, I felt angry often, but I almost never contradicted her.

This was unusual for me. I was inherently confrontational – until I was with her.

That confrontational nature was likely what led me to war – and to fight with Atton. And to butt in to everybody's business all the time with my prodding and my questioning. Atris was right. A part of me _did_ want to fight, but not because I lusted for battle. I wanted to help people. That was all I wanted, when it came right down to it.

But, Atris was right, aggression with aggression was probably wrong. It didn't feel wrong, but it was probably still wrong.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I did start to feel wrong all over. There were inconsistencies everywhere, and I was a hypocrite.

I hated the Sith but I preached love and acceptance. I wallowed in my loneliness, but I rejected others. I understood my need for emotional and psychological help, but when anybody – _anybody _– reached out to me, I shunned them internally. I forced myself to feel sick when I felt the Force more strongly around me because I didn't want to feel it anymore. And yet, the whole time of my exile, I'd yearned to feel warm and safe in its embrace once more. I pretended at openness to manipulate Atton and Bao-Dur to tell me their pasts, all while withholding my own.

I refused to think about the Dark Times and the Dark Planets because of the things my body endured, and yet I understood, with anthropological distance, that I was beautiful. Then, when I thought about it, I realized that I was proud of my wounded, broken body because it remained beautiful, despite the adversities it had endured.

This made me inherently vain. I wanted to cover my skin so that others could not see me, and yet I knew that I also secretly wanted them to see it. Because seeing was believing, and I knew nobody would accept me until I did. It was a boast of endurance, my body and its scars. But letting people like Atton see it meant that they would also be drawn to me, which I didn't want.

There were circles and circles of inconsistencies, and I felt sicker and sicker until I felt like I might physically vomit.

Maybe this was the hypocrisy Atton seemed to allude to every time a Jedi came around.

I decided that I would make a conscious effort to undo some of this hypocrisy in myself. I would fix it. I would be better.

We arrived in the holding cells. I was feeling particularly dejected, and I realized I didn't want to see them again. I was sure my eyes were red from tears, and that was _always_ a pain to explain.

Another hypocrisy.

I wanted help, wouldn't take it.

Sighing, my eyes flitted instantly to the Force cages, where I saw Atton and Bao-Dur crumped up in sleep. Only Kreia stood at my approach, and I found myself rolling my eyes.

_Figures_.

"Did you find what you came for?" she asked me.

I sighed.

"It wasn't my idea to come here in the first place," I snapped at the woman.

A little too harshly.

"And yet, here we are. The Force makes no mistakes. We were bound here, just as you have been bound to me."

"Then I guess it depends," I replied nonchalantly, hoping to sound appropriately unaffected. "What was I supposed to find here?"

She began to prattle on, but I was hardly listening, instead opting to look around the room. I realized how cold it was in here, and I drew my arms around my torso to keep warmer, wishing I'd bought better garments for myself for such inclement weather.

"This woman," Kreia was saying. "She did something to you once…something that hangs upon you still?"

I grimaced. I'd hoped she wouldn't bring it up.

I decided that to undo my hypocrisy I'd have to start out with little small moments like this.

"Look, Kreia, I don't want to talk about her, alright?"

"Was your discussion unpleasant?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," I said, hugging myself tighter. "She's still mad at me. Still hates me."

"Ah…" Kreia said, nodding. "I see it now. The act has left its marks."

She pursed her lips.

"There is a Jedi here, in that you are correct. Yet there are no students, and this woman…this _Atris_…surrounds herself with those who cannot feel the Force. Curious."

Kreia's voice had adopted a mocking quality, one which made me feel conflicted. On the one hand, I was grateful to her to attempt to make me feel better. On the other, loyalty accrued in all the time I'd spent with Atris made me feel guilty for allowing the tone in Kreia's voice to go unchecked.

Still, though, it did surprise me that Kreia said there were no students.

"So…" I began slowly. "These women – these handmaidens…they can't feel the Force?"

"Goodness, child, no," she said, as if it should have been obvious.

I grimaced.

"They are not _Jedi_," Kreia snapped spitefully. "Their minds are simply _walled_, trained to resist tricks of the mind. I imagine it was Atris who has taught them this technique, though none of them seem to be aware that this technique _blinds_ them to the very thing they seek to protect themselves from."

The thought made me sad, but it was so typical Atris to do something so utterly cautious that any ability that could have been fostered was squandered in fearful protection.

"Atris plans to heal the galaxy and rebuild the Order," I told the older woman, grimacing at the announcement. "And she wants me to help."

Kreia did not seem surprised.

"Plans are fragile things, and life often dashes expectations to the ground."

The parry to my announcement was more surprising to me than it probably should have been.

"You don't think she can do it?"

"I do not _think_ anything," the woman snapped. "What I _know_ is that this _Atris_ claims to be a protector of people, and yet she hides in the ground in a barren wasteland. She claims to be a teacher, and yet there are no students. She claims to be your superior, both in morality and in her studies, and she has not and would not have been able to survive what you have."

I stiffened at this. I hadn't thought of it that way, but I realized that Atris, too, was as hypocritical as I was. Maybe we'd learned the trait from each other.

Still hurt me deeply.

"She has wounded you deeply with her behavior, both now and then," Kreia announced to the walls. "Tell me – why do you allow it to bother you?"

I scowled at the woman, forcing myself to be brave.

"I'm not bothered, I'm just…"

I sighed resignedly at the knowing look on the old woman's face.

"Okay, _fine_. It upset me. Who cares? The sooner we're away from here, the sooner we can let it go."

"Be warned…unresolved events from our past can create wounds in the present – and the future."

"Well, I'm more worried about right now than the future, Kreia," I said dismissively. "And right now, I don't have to think about it."

"That is correct," Kreia conceded.

She had a surprisingly gentle voice, almost affectionate.

Somehow, and maybe this was her intention, this made our relations suddenly better. Like I was a child and she my mother, and we'd fought but it was all better now. Once again, after trauma, my matron was ready to take me back under her wing.

All at once, I realized that, despite her infuriating and abrasive methods, this was the truth.

"Kreia," I said to her, walking over to a switch to flip the force cages.

"Yes, Exile?"

"I just wanted to thank you."

Kreia was silent, and the other two, thankfully, didn't move. Despite how difficult it was to sometimes read her, this time seemed evident enough. She leaned back slightly, and I saw the muscles around her mouth tighten to form her lips into a suspicious line.

"You have nothing to thank me for, young Exile," she finally whispered.

But the way she said the title was even more affectionate now, and I was grateful for the release in tension. For some reason, it caused the barbs that Atris had pushed deeper into their respective wounds smart, and tears struggled to make their way out of my eyes.

"She has wounded you deeply," Kreia mused, sounding angry.

I said nothing, instead walking a few steps to inspect Atton and Bao-Dur.

"Fear not, Exile," she said to me, "the mission you are on now will overcome the petty qualms of the imbecile who dares calls herself a teacher of Jedi."

"We used to be friends," I told Kreia, busying myself fiddling with buttons that wouldn't make any difference in letting my friends out. "We did everything together."

"And she has _left_ you, just as you have left her."

This platitude was too much to handle, and I found myself sighing heavily.

"I didn't mean to leave her," I admitted, looking at my hands now. "I meant to help people. I meant to do some good."

I looked up at her helplessly.

Once again, her face did not change, but in a rare moment of affection, the corner of her mouth tilted upwards slightly.

"All of our actions create ripples in the Force that must at some point make their way back to us," she said. "Your efforts have been lost in the ocean of the in-between."

"She told me that I was inconsistent," I told Kreia nervously.

The thought angered me, even now, despite how maddeningly right she was.

"And what is it that you believe?"

"I think she's right," I said to her, scowling into the pad that would unlock the Force cages. "I don't know what I want. I don't know who I am."

"None of us knows who we truly are," Kreia said, with a hint of exasperation. "Notions to do so are frivolous."

"But how am I supposed to know what to do if I don't know who I am? Or what my role is?"

"You look to the past and learn what has motivated you then. For one such as I, that would be the pursuit of knowledge. This is something that I value highly. As such, I am a learner because that is what I seek to do. To learn. Through knowledge, I become strong."

Somehow, this tidbit of information was gratifying in all the right ways. I was reminded of how little I knew about the woman, of the small regard I held her in. The gap was widening now as new appreciation took hold inside of my chest somewhere for the woman. She still angered me beyond all reason.

But she wasn't a black maw like before.

"What is it that _you_ are, Exile?" she asked me quietly.

"I'm…"

I thought about it.

Hard.

Long seconds passed into minutes, and still I thought. I held her attention, even still, as she motionlessly waited for my conclusion.

"I'm a helper," I finally told her. "Because I want to help the galaxy. Make it right. So I'm a helper. That's what I am."

There was a moment in which Kreia just stared at me. For a moment, I thought that she was going to reprimand me for such a simple, base desire. But, after only a few seconds, her mouth parted and a smile awoke on her face as she burst into laughter.

It was the laugh of an old grandmother, a friendly matriarch, not the cold, distant woman I'd come to know.

I realized in the long weeks that I'd known her that I hadn't heard it once.

"A helper, indeed," she conceded, putting her hand on the stomach region of her robes to still her laughter. "Such a noble pursuit. And how do you expect to achieve such an enormous goal?"

I thought again, and with a swelling sense of warmth I realized that her questions were helping to calm me down.

"I guess…I would say that I really want to establish balance. I want there to be justice."

Kreia's smile faded into something slightly more serious.

"Justice or revenge?"

I pursed my lips.

"I don't think revenge," I said calmly. "Though…I do want to make things right."

My face darkened.

"I don't care what the Jedi say, what happened was wrong. And all I've ever done is try to fix things. I know I'm not always the best at that, but I've really, honestly tried. Not to do anything bad."

"It is fortunate for you that I have mastered the knowledge of this and am here to guide you on the one, true path."

There was a silence.

"For now, let us depart," she said. "I sense the handmaidens have prepared us shelter until our departure, and I am tired."

I glanced at Atton and Bao-Dur, who didn't move.

I flicked their cages off, and still both were motionless.

"The handmaidens will care for them," Kreia said dismissively, motioning to me. "They will, no doubt, meet us in the chambers that have been prepared for us. Come. Let us sit and meditate a while."

Obediently, I followed Kreia out into the hallway, heading silently and tiredly into our temporary room.


	25. Chapter 25

**Hey, friends/readers! I'm very sorry this has taken so long. I'm a little stuck here, so maybe the feeling is that the story is dragging, but I know I can get out of the rut (at some point.)**

**Full disclosure: I lost about 3 - 4 chapters! I was uploading while my computer died, and, while I normally don't edit in the composition box found within the Fanfiction site, I had been doing that this time in multiple tabs. Serves me right for doing something so dumb! Therefore, I've lost a lot of content. Frustration! I'm trying to rewrite that which I _had_ written, but there are those of you out there who know, I'm sure, how much less you enjoy both writing and reading the replaced versions of things you've already written. Even if it is good in its own right, it's not that same, first, finished, polished thing that you wanted! (Not that anybody's perfect. I continue to find typos in my stuff all the time.)**

**Anyways, thanks for keeping up with me. I sincerely appreciate all the support. I've done my best to make up for the loss here, but I can always improve. So, if I've dishonored the material, or the universe, or the prose, or the characters, let me know (kindly) and I will do my best to keep up! *Phew***

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><p>When I woke up, everything washed over me in a way it had not in a long time. It was like the worst hangover of your life. It left something stale clinging to the back of your teeth, making your tongue feel swollen, too big for you to swallow, and the nasty chemicals gave it an almost itchy, fuzzy quality. This made it hard to breathe, and you had to wake up just to latch onto oxygen, which only moments later you immediately regretted.<p>

Because there was unimaginable shame.

That always came next.

Shame.

And it was shame I couldn't hide from. Not in those horrible, awful moments between being asleep and being awake in which nobody could lie to themselves.

I was a murderer and a liar and a cheat. I was a pirate and a scoundrel, a smuggler and a womanizer. I was a drunkard and a thief, but, most of all, I was stupid. More than stupid. I was foolish.

It washed over me as I remembered my conversation with Kreia and I began to forget why it was I'd been so cavalier these last few weeks. A cold sweat pierced the back of my neck, and the air around me was chilly enough to make this sensation remarkably unpleasant. I felt sick and depressed. I didn't want to move. What was the point? If I died here in this ice hole, nobody would care. And that way I'd get out of serving Neli and Kreia and leave it all behind. I could just leave it all behind.

At least, that was what I thought before a slight pressure changed on the bed I was in, and my eyes shot open – more out of instinct than desire to see who it was.

And there she was.

Nuneli Hyrra, War Hero. General.

Woman.

Friend.

Smiling down at me as if I'd just been born with so much warmth in the gentle crinkles in the gaze of her beautiful earthy eyes that the frigid temperature of the air rose twenty degrees.

I felt so vulnerable suddenly as my breath left my body, as my jaw slackened, as my eyes clung, terrified to lose her, solidly to hers. All that I was cycled through my head between my ears like a buzz, like a reminder, and, despite what she made me feel, I looked down at my hands.

These long, still moments were hard for me. I wanted something quick, something fleeting. I didn't like this. I didn't enjoy it, mostly because I didn't know how to handle it. What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to change when I'd done so much to be inconstant?

I had to, for her sake. So that she would never know about me. I absolutely had to figure it out, as unpleasant as it was.

But, in small steps. Some habits would be harder to break.

Like my reaction to being woken up.

Her presence had caused me to shoot away from her. I'd recoiled abruptly into a cool metal wall on the far side of the bed, and I found myself lingering as close to it as I could to be further away from her.

I clenched my eyes shut for a moment, wishing away my idiocy, but she didn't seem to notice. At least, I saw her smile with a little too much force and pretend not to notice. And the faded mirth in her eyes didn't feel good either.

She thought I was reacting to her.

She carried so much shame too, but it seemed almost like some backlight was projecting it outwards now. Whatever this place was, whoever the Jedi was she'd spoken to, I could see that it ate at her.

But I had not to notice this. I had to act as if nothing had changed.

Nothing had, really. Just my motivations were different.

"Hey, there, gorgeous," I muttered groggily.

"Don't," she muttered back, clearing her throat uncomfortably.

Her beautiful brown eyes had landed on her lap, and she scooted away as far as was reasonable to create space between us.

_Say something, idiot!_ I thought frantically.

Quick, impulsive words were all I had to go on because my mind was still stuck in that time-freezing gaze she'd locked me in earlier.

"Hey…" I said, my voice cracking.

I cleared it sheepishly, glancing around at everything but always eventually settling back on her. She just listened patiently, eyes unmovably centered on her lap now.

"You're back with us," I continued.

She didn't smile anymore, and that made me feel very deflated.

"I am," she whispered, looking at her hands.

"We were just on our way to rescue you from those ghost women, when…uh…we got locked up."

She glanced over at me, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, at her cheeks as her eyes twinkled behind that now-shadow of mirth.

"I was with you, remember?" she asked, looking at me with a hint of…something.

She was probably mocking me.

I swore in my head, wishing I wasn't such a complete idiot.

She seemed to be struggling to say something, which wasn't news. I'd also learned that she was slow with people. She was impulsive and hot-tempered, but she tried to think before she spoke. She was stuck in her head, just the way I used to be.

Maybe that was why I waited so long whenever she tried to speak. I waited patiently like I had with _no one_ else.

"Are you okay?" she finally managed, glancing at me sideways with a nervous tightening in her mouth.

Every time she asked it, it made me think of her.

Her eyes were swollen. She'd been crying. Her cheeks looked puffy, and, as if on cue, she sniffled just once, as if to stifle the results of a long sob I'd somehow unwittingly missed. It made me feel very uncomfortable, both her crying and how it made me feel. I tried to swallow. It, too, was hard, but I managed.

"I'm…I'm fine," I managed, none too smoothly. "Don't bother worrying about me. You?"

She just nodded, pursing her lips.

"I met a Jedi friend from my childhood here," she whispered eventually, glancing at me again the same way I glanced at her.

The word "Jedi" rang in my head too loudly for me to really listen closely.

But I managed to say,

"Uh oh. Watch out."

"Mhmm," she said tensely. "And…"

She sat tall suddenly, as if it pained her.

"She has not forgiven me."

It was a simple statement. A basic sentence. It shouldn't have surprised me or floored me, but it did. Rage boiled inside of me as I wondered who this _pretender_ was for me to kill. And I _would_ kill her for making my Neli look like that, sound like that.

_My Neli_, my head repeated mockingly.

I scowled internally, trying to focus my self-loathing into my rage.

It worked.

"Who the hell is she to judge you?" I asked.

Neli shrugged, shaking her head. She'd turned her head away. She didn't want me to look at her.

"She was my friend for a long time," she confided in me.

Gems, each and every memory she let me have. They were little treasures, all of them, and I was enraptured as she continued.

"I didn't have very many friends."

"Why the hell not?" I asked her. "You don't drink, you don't laugh, you're not fun. What's not to like about that if you're a Jedi?"

_Ouch_, I thought after a moment.

She looked upset.

"Maybe, uh...maybe that was too harsh," I tried to amend, but she just made a noise to stop me.

"You know, this is _exactly_ why I knew I shouldn't have come to you!" she finally snapped. "You're always making fun of me!"

"Hey, princess, nobody asked you to come talk to me," I admonished with a convincing amount of swagger.

Made me feel sick.

"I'm not 'fun?'" she shouted, standing away from the bed.

She flipped back around to face me.

"Is that what you think you're doing at those clubs? With those people? Having _fun_? Is that what you think we're here to do? To have _fun_?"

"No, it seems like we're here to mope around and cry all the time! Isn't that right?"

"Screw you!" she snapped. "I didn't _ask_ for your help!"

"Well, I didn't _ask_ to be here either!"

"Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself, Atton, it really isn't becoming of a man your age."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean you better watch out! Your self-pity is showing!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I snapped, "are you going to tell me how I'm feeling now?"

I raised my hands and motioned for her to sit back down, sarcastically welcoming her back to the bed. Anger pulsed through me, and I couldn't help it.

Hearing her mock me was too much.

"You think - you think I want to be here? To be like this? You think I've always been this way?"

"Haven't you? Little bundle of joy that you are. Tell me, do you _ever_ relax or would that send you into t a downward spiral?"

"Well, I thought _we_ had had some fun!" she tried, obviously trying to dial it down.

But she'd already gone too far. I would have none of it. Like a buzz, the words came flying out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"As if trailing behind a piece of ass like you, a senile old woman, and an obviously dysfunctional, overly-loyal war veteran has even been remotely close to _fun_!"

She didn't say anything now, just stared, eyes wide, but I didn't care.

"You said it yourself; she hasn't forgiven you," I snapped cruelly. "Why do you think that might be, hm? You're not exactly the biggest bucket of rainbows and flowers that most Jedi are. What was it that pissed off your old pal? Your pessimism or your complete and total inability to take care of yourself and everyone else?"

_Thwack_!

She'd slapped me and, like I had been in a dream, I just blinked, feeling ashamed even more than I had before. I couldn't look at her. Then, I expected fire. A rain of fire.

But she didn't. She just breathed in and out, in and out, in and out, as if her breathing at all was an affirmation of how unkind I'd just been. I wanted to apologize, but I couldn't.

"People don't like me," she finally whispered, scowling. "And that's fine. But I do _not_ need to be reminded of that fact when _everybody_ around me has made that abundantly clear - alright?"

I just nodded now. I couldn't speak.

Because I disagreed. Beneath her obviously damaged outer shell, I thought I saw the remnants of somebody pretty fun underneath it all. Down there somewhere, I saw the makings of somebody who'd be popular to all the right people – she was witty, smart, intelligent, more gorgeous than a Hutt's slave. She had attitude and she was lippy, but that only heightened the desire and the appeal.

My eyes roved all over her. There was defeat in everything her body said to me. It was unkind of me to kick her when she was down, even for me.

"It's…hard…" she managed. "To be by yourself. That's hard. And if you knew anything about that, you'd leave me alone. I'm doing the best I can with what I know."

Empathy, sweet, pungent empathy, overwhelmed me in a way that it had not in many long years.

"As for my _friend_, she was resentful of me because I gave up my spot to be a Padawan to a Council member to join the war."

"The Council?" I repeated dumbly.

I knew about the Council. We'd mocked the Council. I'd _hated_ the Council. We plotted to kill them. In some outposts, there were Council member posters full of knife holes or burnt by blaster fire, usually between the eyes.

A chill settled in my gut that it could have been her.

"The Grandmaster of our Council on Dantooine – he never liked me. He made me run extra exercises and when the other Padawans would go out to finish their training in the fields, I had to stay in the yard, learning _discipline_. I've always lacked _form_, he said."

She snorted in a way that was telling.

And I could just see that scene, Neli breaking her back over some move or other, watching wistfully as the other kids jogged happily out into the open to go do who knows what on Dantooine. She was trapped in a cage that way.

It dawned on me that maybe really she was like this not just because of her isolation in Exile but also because of her whole life. It wasn't because she wasn't fun. It was because she had been rejected by everybody for her whole life.

How lonely that must have been.

It pained me, and I didn't like it.

"Anyway," she said with too much dismissiveness. "Maybe you're right. Jedi are cowards and hypocrites."

She shrugged, and I realized now that tears were streaking her cheeks.

"Including me," she finally added, staring at her hands.

Shame. That was this feeling. Shame that one of the huge reasons her masters were treating her this way was because she'd left the only home that she had ever known to fight scum like me. Of course, we hadn't started out as scum. She'd come to help me. But when I'd changed, she'd stayed the same, and they'd kicked her in the ribs for it.

I looked away, feeling disgusted with myself.

I wondered if I could leave, how that would be, what that would be like.

But then I thought of the look on her face. Of how broken it would make her.

But then, maybe I was flattering myself. We weren't really friends. Right? Or were we? Did she think of me as her friend? I thought of her as my friend. The term "friend" could be thrown around so casually these days, but she wasn't someone I'd meet again via the business end of a blaster. She'd probably at least smile and wave.

I hoped so.

"I didn't come here to lecture you," she said, shaking her head as tears threatened to spill.

"Why did you come here then?" I managed coolly.

"To see if you were okay," she said, wiping her tears quickly, as if abandoning all pretense.

She glanced at me, laughing bitterly, and I didn't have the willpower to swat this down like I usually did. Instead, my breathing became labored again as sensations overtook my body. It was in that moment that I learned one very important thing:

I could never leave.

Another kind of helplessness trapped me here, and I hated everything all in a moment. Everything except for her, the blissful, ignorant victim who everybody insulted by assuming she just didn't know any better.

"Why were you even unconscious?" she asked me suspiciously after a while.

The alarm bells went off, and I knew this would be the start of it all. The first lie that would give birth to so many others.

"I don't know," I lied masterfully. "Guess the being thrown in jail repeatedly has really been getting to me."

She turned to evaluate me, her eyes just slightly too perceptive to accept this at face value. But then, as usual, she allowed the moment to pass out of something I'd come to recognize as complacency.

There was a painful silence in the room.

"I'm going to go, uh…have a look around," she announced awkwardly. "We're stuck here until the storm passes. They've given us free reign, but…I mean, be gentle with those women. They're…interesting."

I couldn't say anything else. I just felt awfully out of place.

Why had I just been so mean?

Nodding, feeling so foolish I was ashamed, I watched her leave the room, and I glanced around quickly. It was sparse and made of a combination of stone and metal. No decorations. No windows. Just beds and lighting.

Swearing at myself, I fell back, running my hands through my hair, ready to waste the day away feeling sorry for myself.


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note: Apologies for the long absence. If any of you follow my other SW story, "Time, and What Came of It" you will notice that I have been on leave for too long. I've gone through a break up, a death, a move, and a slew of other things too exasperating and exhausting to list at the present that has prevented me from doing my writing justice. Just know that I'm doing the best I can to stay motivated, and I appreciate the loyalty of anybody who's still willing to read. I'll try to pick up the pace. Thanks again.**

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><p>By the time I'd made it out of my bed, it was early in the afternoon. I began to wander around when I heard <em>her<em> voice. Like a bug to light, I was drawn to it, and I found myself lightening my own steps to listen in.

She was speaking with Bao-Dur. Or rather, I'd heard her greet him and he was speaking to her. He sounded like he was in pain.

"I…am sorry, General. I must have lost consciousness in the crash."

My skin rolled several times at the way he whispered her title. There was so much reverence there that it made me feel both jealous and irritated. I remembered that feeling, like an echo I couldn't hear anymore.

Of course, she answered plainly.

"Do not apologize, Bae," she said affectionately.

I heard Bao-Dur make an appreciative noise, and I slunk harder against the wall nervously, wondering where her hands were, if she was putting them on his shoulders. Suddenly, the horrible thought of Bao-Dur with her crawled into my head and I just couldn't get it out.

Sure, Bao-Dur was an alien. Sure, that was an offensive way to look at it, but that was what he was to the two of us. We were both humans. I should have had the edge over that Zabrak and yet, here she was, whispering to him while I was away in bed.

I was _jealous_, and something deep, _deep_ inside of me laughed and laughed and laughed at the thought, shameful and humiliating as it was. She was a _Jedi_, and I was jealous of who she spent her time with. Of how she spoke to the man. He was her senior, I thought, but it was hard to tell after people got back from war. Everyone looked old.

Even Neli looked old sometimes. It just couldn't be helped.

"I am fine, General," he was replying.

Had she spoken? I'd missed it.

"Even power has been restored to my arm."

Neli laughed a little bit appreciatively.

"I'm glad to hear that, friend," her beautiful, melodic voice said softly.

Too softly for my liking.

"What is this place?" Bao-Dur went on to ask. "Where are we?"

"We're at a Jedi academy," she said, her voice now strained. "It was concealed on the northern pole of Telos."

There was what seemed to be a well-understood silence between them.

"Are you okay?" he asked her gently.

It made me clench my fists. I should have asked that. Why hadn't I asked that?

Because I was too busy making her feel badly about herself. I was awfully good at that.

_I have to get better at that_, I managed, my ears flitting back into their conversation.

"I met Atris," Neli whispered. "She was my good friend before the war."

Bao-Dur didn't reply for a while.

"Why is she significant?"

"She knew me before I was General Hyrra, the great and terrible!"

Her voice had taken on a mocking quality to it, and I smirked, despite myself. It was childish, and I loved it. Her accent was beautiful.

"Is she one you asked to go with you?" Bao-Dur asked.

"Yeah," she said tightly. "Not the only one, but one of them."

"She has upset you, it would seem," Bao-Dur whispered in that way of his, cautious as ever.

"Well, that's okay," Neli said dismissively.

I could just see her trying to smile, brave through it.

"I just wanted to let you know that we're safe. That I'm fine. That we're all fine here. We have to wait to depart – some snow storm outside – but after that we must leave."

Bao-Dur made an affirming noise, and I heard her move to stand up. Scrambling away like a little kid, I jolted a little down the hallway, as if I was just emerging out of my room. She emerged at just the right time, and she glanced in my direction.

"Oh, you're up?" she asked. "How are you feeling?"

She looked even more tired this time than she had before, and as we met in that metallic hallway, I found myself wishing she'd just go lie down someplace.

"Pretty tired," I managed cautiously.

"Yeah, me too," she conceded, stifling a yawn.

She raised her hands to her mouth, and I noticed darkened-black bruises on each of her knuckles. She'd been in a fight.

When I moved to ask her about it, she snorted and shot past me.

And I just stood there in the hallway, wondering how she'd bled, wondering why she was bleeding, wondering if we were in any danger but afraid to commit to doing the very job I'd been blackmailed into doing.

* * *

><p>It was late when I saw her again. I had been pointedly avoiding her for obvious reasons, but she came straight for me now, having turned a corner and making her way with determined steps in my direction. I glanced over my shoulder once, taken up with the bizarre sensation of wondering how to flee. I couldn't, so I just settled with staring nervously out at the snow storm through the large window.<p>

I linked my fingers together loosely to prevent her from seeing that I was shaking and leaned over the railing so that she wouldn't know I felt unsteady.

She didn't speak.

I felt crestfallen.

"Neli…" I began.

"I use the Force, Atton," she said abruptly.

I leaned back, stunned. Not only was this random, it was also a very new development, and I couldn't tell the affect it had on my inconvenient and budding affection for her.

She turned to look at me, and the look in her eyes was frightened. I felt as if I'd been punched in the chest, and that strange and increasingly familiar guilt inundated my bloodstream.

"Isn't that the whole goal?" I asked quietly. "For you to be the way you were?"

But even I could hear the hesitation in my voice, and she looked upset.

"I don't want to be the way I was," she told me vehemently. "I really, _really_ don't."

It was like a desperate plea, and I was her last, best line of defense – which, all in all, was very strange, considering how unkind I'd been these last few days.

"It doesn't sound like you have much of a choice," I admitted half-heartedly.

"But…I…"

She was struggling, and it pained me. I glued my eyes to the snow outside, determined not to look at her, because if I did I wasn't sure what I would do.

"You know, I used to be _strong_," she said bracingly.

I couldn't help it. I glanced at her at this, a little surprised. Her past was always this way, intoxicating.

"I used to be _strong_. And people told me I was bright and funny and _fun_."

I winced. That barb had really gotten to her.

"Sorry, princess," I managed.

She shook her head.

"No, but you're right," she said, hysterical in all but the tears. "You're right. I'm not _fun_. I can't smile or laugh. You know, I used to be fun. I used to…make jokes and I could do this thing…" She laughed pensively. "I could do this thing where I could commune with animals. Something about my upbringing or culture from before the Jedi or something. And I used to make the kath hounds on Dantooine charge the lessons of masters held when I was really angry with them."

She shook her head, sniffling.

A giveaway.

She was desperately fighting off hysteria, and there was nothing I could do but watch and listen.

"I mean, now they want me to use the Force again," she said seriously. "Use it and use it to fight. To hurt people. I don't want to hurt anybody."

"I know," my mouth said before I could stop it, surprising the both of us.

"Do you know that I'll be a Jedi?" she asked me, voice high pitched.

"I do," my mouth said again.

"You're not mad?" she asked me.

I stopped breathing, and she did too.

She'd picked up on it. I was hesitant, fearful, those should have been obvious. But the rage? The blame? The anger? Maybe I was just too dense to think that she'd know about it. Or maybe I didn't give her enough credit. Maybe I wasn't nearly as clever as I thought I was.

"Why would I be mad?" I asked, a little too loudly.

My tone was accusatory, but I couldn't stop it.

"I don't know…" she admitted half-heartedly. "I just…"

She ended up shrugging, her voice trailing off to nothing.

"Seems like something that might make you mad," she finally offered, continuing to walk by me again.

Something about this conversation hurt my heart, and I didn't understand why. It seemed to be moving too quickly for my brain to process it, but, as usual, my heart was quick to anger when my head didn't catch on fast enough. I reached out and took her by the forearm, yanking her over to where I stood once again. I didn't miss the instinctive yank backwards, the struggle that she, admirably, quelled just before it overtook her like before.

"What are you saying?" I asked her, narrowing my eyes. "You think I'll turn on you now that you're a Jedi?"

She glanced up at me once, and the fear didn't recede. It was telling and all too familiar.

_If only you knew_, my mind warned, and I felt disgusting.

"What the _hell_, Neli?" I nearly shouted, storming past her now, just trying to get away.

I wasn't sure who I was angry with, myself or her.

"I'm really glad to know you have that much confidence in me!" I snapped sarcastically.

"And what reason do I have to believe you?" she shouted back.

She took my shoulder and yanked me backwards to face her. The lingering feel of her hands on my shoulder, separated only by a thin cloth, throbbed, even as I tried to focus on yelling at her.

"I've stuck by you this long! Why don't you just – "

"Why don't you just _shut up_?" she shouted at me. "Every _single_ time you make some kind of snide remark about Jedi, you're basically _spitting _on me! And you're _nasty_ and _rude_! Why would I trust you to be okay with what we're about to go and do? I am a Jedi!"

There it was. The final plunge, the slip we all knew was coming. The admission that was obvious to everybody but her. Her eyes were alight with a determination that had been missing before this. The _meaning_ of being a Jedi might have changed for her, but the cause, the reasons, they were all the same. And her shoulders were squared to me, her fists clenched, her chest held high, her neck lengthened to reveal that jaw I wanted so much to just take in my mouth and taste with my tongue.

She was so beautiful, and she was a Jedi. It was all at once abundantly and irrevocably clear. She was a paragon, a beacon. She was _everything_ that all the Jedi I loathed _weren't_. She was perfect and god-like, and, despite the fact that she was a head shorter than I was, I felt small in front of those eyes, that mouth, those two, small, quaking fists. It was if she was a physical embodiment of the Force, and it was staring back at me, omniscient, penetrating and unwavering.

I felt my limbs, so tense just the moment before, hang limply against my sides now.

I didn't know how or when, but my mind had separated her from other Jedi. It was her and them. It wasn't all of them collectively. And she, Neli right here, just like this, she was beautiful, and she was perfect. I wanted to explain this, but I felt afraid. I felt overwhelmed.

I needed to get out. These things were too slow. I was used to quick, fleeting moments, few acquaintances, no friends. What was I thinking, getting involved here with her like this? How could I _possibly_ mean anything to somebody with so much purpose?

At the same time, looking at her, I knew the whole galaxy had changed for me.

It would never be the same.

I didn't know what to do.

And then something happened. Something changed. The light went out again and the Neli I'd come to know was back.

The shift was alarming.

This Neli was weak. She was tired, she was hurt. No, _hurting_. She was volatile, desperate, anxious, _afraid_. This Neli was no paragon.

It was like she'd become lost in herself.

"Look…" she said, sighing. She put her forehead in her hands. "Maybe I can just go. If you don't mind."

I felt suddenly lost, and a primitive, inexplicable force inside of me wanted my arms to reach out and to hold her. She just walked a few paces and stopped.

"I'm sorry," I offered her, feeling almost naked. "I didn't mean…I keep forgetting you're a Jedi."

She sneered.

"For what it's worth, right?"

I didn't know what to say.

"I feel so…_disgusted_ and angry, Atton," she finally whispered.

I couldn't move. There was malice and spite in her voice for the first time, really, and that frightened me.

"Why?" my mouth managed.

"They _left_ me!" she hissed into the air.

Still, I couldn't speak.

But this drove what little air was left out of my lungs.

"They _left_ me all by myself! The Republic, the Jedi – _everyone_! They _left_ me, and I'm just supposed to pretend like it's okay to waltz around like a Jedi, to follow the _rules_. I'm just supposed to smile and laugh and forgive." She crossed her arms, her back to me. "Well, I'm _tired_ of doing that shit. I'm _not_ a _good _Jedi, which means I don't have to smile, I _get_ to cry, and I sure as hell don't have to forgive anybody!"

"I've never heard you talk like that," I whispered finally to her.

I didn't like it.

It made me feel guilty, like I was somehow responsible. She was too beautiful, small, and good to feel bitterness. There was no harm in owning up to that. And I didn't want to be responsible even in a small way for causing her to be act and think and feel the way I did.

"I think you're rubbing off on me," she said, laughing lightly.

As if to read my mind.

Scary when that happened.

But I just murmured,

"You wish."

She laughed now, a real laugh, and I felt the tension in my shoulders relax a little. I felt like I could finally breathe again.

"Maybe I do," she said, turning back to look at me.

The light from the snowstorm spilled in onto her face in a way that made me feel suddenly very out of place.

"Um…" I tried, but words were difficult. "I…okay."

I winced. So much for smooth-talking.

She laughed again, this time under her breath, and her eyes, so even and clear, peered into me like I was naked and beautiful. I was terrified, suddenly. Nobody, not a single person, had ever looked at me the way she was looking at me right then. So clear and focused, so intense and honest. There was no judgment in her eyes. No questions. Just acceptance and gentleness.

How could anybody look at _me_ that way?

"I never got a chance to say thank you to you," she finally managed, smiling a strained smile.

Her white teeth stuck out against her darker skin, and it made her smile light up her face as light from the white storm outside reflected off of them.

"For what?" I asked, just blinking, powerless to move under her gaze.

"When we crashed, Bao-Dur said you saved me," she replied calmly. "Back at the base."

In the paradoxical light of the white snow, I saw that she was flustering herself a little, and I tried hard not to look at her lips. My curiosity fought this urge – because they were suddenly completely fascinating to me.

"And for…letting me sleep on your cot. Before. And for just…I don't know. Looking out for me. Being you."

Something about the tone in her voice had some small, hidden morsel of finality to it that made my heart beat so loudly that I was sure she could hear it. My hands felt weak, and I did too, staring deep into her eyes. I found myself not even _wanting_ to move. Just to smile at her dumbly, just to stand there and look at her.

"No problem," I managed to say, a little weakly.

I couldn't think of anything else to say.

She laughed now.

"Hey…" she said, leaning forward a little closer.

I felt a pressure inside of me as her lips came just slightly too close, as her breath left her body just slightly too far away for me to tingle all over. It was like dangling a piece of meat just in front of a starving man.

I was _starving_ for her lips.

"Your eyes are really nice," she said to me, smiling, totally unaware of the heat she was bringing into me with her closeness. "I never noticed that before."

I nodded now, unable to speak because of the lump that had made its way to my throat.

_Why_ was I feeling this way?

She leaned back all at once, letting a deep breath tumble out of her lungs hurriedly, like she'd been holding it.

"Alright, so…"

She looked around, her body now perpendicular to mine, but her profile was no less enticing than she'd been head-on.

"I have something I want to say, but I'm a little nervous, so…why don't we just…talk for a bit?"

I blinked.

"Talk?" I asked.

The concept seemed foreign to me.

"What about? Is something wrong?"

She laughed again.

"No, no, I mean…" She cleared her throat. "Let's just talk."

My guard was up now, and that agonizing but not necessarily unpleasant sensation went away.

"What do you need to know?" I asked cautiously.

Disappointment flashed in her eyes as she turned away.

"Never mind," she finally said. "Dumb idea anyway."

I felt weak all over again, this time for a different reason.

"No, what did you want to talk about?"

She shrugged, but I could see she looked defeated.

"I could ask you the same thing," she said to me gently.

Her smile was weak now, and sad. Not as strong or as clear as it had been. Now, it was diluted with something that might have been a precursor to tears.

Guarded as ever, on high alert now, I cleared my throat.

"Uh…what do you mean?" I asked, hoping to sound cavalier.

"You mentioned before you wanted to rescue me from Atris," she said casually.

"Yeah? So?"

"Well…the women here told me that you were trying to protect me…with…Echani training."

Almost as if she was disappointed, her eyes took on an orb-like quality, wretched and clear.

_Play dumb_, I ground out from my subconscious somehow.

I was good at that.

"Huh?" was all I allowed myself to say.

"When we met the Handmaidens at the entrance, you assumed an Echani combat stance. Where'd you learn that?"

I juggled feeling angry and denying it completely before settling on another lie. Like a roof full of holes. I was just patching up the holes so her eyes that were the stars couldn't see my cold, dying, wretched form within.

"Oh," I mumbled. "That…"

I feigned laughter and felt awful at how easily it came back to me.

"Don't tell anyone," I said, leaning forward slightly, "but you wouldn't _believe_ how many fights you can prevent by just _pretending_ to know that stuff."

She didn't move, which was scary.

"I mean…" I continued, scrambling to sound unabashed. "It doesn't compare to wearing a lightsaber, but then again, that doesn't seem to help you much."

"Cute," was all she said, folding her arms.

She furrowed her brow.

"No need to change the subject though," she quipped, smiling wearily at the ground between us before glancing back up at me. "I'm just asking."

I found it more endearing than ever that she was still so interested in me after I'd been so unkind.

I had to make up for it.

"Are you…are you all done here?" I finally managed. "I know we're leaving but…do you plan on seeing your friend again?"

She scoffed loudly.

"If Atris had her way, we'd be spaced already. She is _not_ my friend."

"Things went that well, huh?" I quipped, smirking at her wit. "You make friends wherever you go, don't you?"

"You know, it's a burden," she said, a budding smile taking shape on her tired features. "Being so utterly likable is just _so_ hard."

"Well, chin up, gorgeous, you'll find somebody eventually."

"There are, after all, countless other people in the galaxy to spit at me and turn me away."

I found myself laughing, despite the dark tones of the joke-not-joke beneath.

"Nothing like a steady stream of people who hate us or want to kill us to keep the heart pumping, I always say," I declared heartily.

Our laughter faded and a somewhat uncomfortable silence ensued.

"You sure you're okay?" she finally asked me, glancing in my direction.

"What? Me? I'm _fine_," I said, feigning exasperation.

"And you're sticking with your pretending to know Echani story?"

Now I was getting annoyed.

"Yeah," I snapped curtly. "Why?"

She sighed, defeated. She was no fool, and, therefore, was not fooled. But she just said,

"No reason, I just…thought it might come in handy. Later on, I mean."

Pride, for the first time in a long time, morphed a smile onto my face, plastering it there as her wonderful eyes surveyed me and turned up pleased.

"Thanks. But you've got the wrong guy."

"Do I?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I'm good at shooting people, cracking wise, and pretending to know how to fight with my hands."

I raised them in a mock stance, and she laughed.

That smile…

I couldn't help it. I was trapped.

So much so, we spent the rest of the night arguing until she finally couldn't take it anymore. She became cold quickly, her tan skin proving to be as exotic as her blood, evidently, and she retired to bed sooner rather than later.


	27. Chapter 27

Bao-Dur was a smart man. He knew that. Most around him knew that. He was a genius with computers and droids. Always had been. That was why he'd been selected for the General's outfit.

He hadn't expected to see her again. When he'd met her on those plains, after that crash, he'd honestly expected her to die from her grievous injuries. He was shocked to learn that she hadn't already been killed since the wars. She'd gone missing and they'd looked for her. But she was gone. That was her wish, and that was the way of things. He'd wept for her when her ship had left for Coruscant. They all knew they'd never see her again.

But then he had. She'd emerged, a fateful crash, and he'd managed to treat her wounds. She was in the company of others, a bizarre set of others, but others all the same. She was one of the few people in the galaxy that he felt like he could trust implicitly. That had always been her way. Time had passed, and things had happened, obviously. She was a woman. She had larger hips, a subtle increase in the size of her breasts, a face of a woman, where before all of those things had been conspicuously absent. But she was still _her_. He'd felt it when they'd had their first awkward, tense conversation.

That was why he stayed. There was no question. Bao-Dur simply had nowhere else to go.

He contemplated her often these days, as he had every so often when he'd been alone. Was she happy? Was she alright? Bao-Dur almost felt like their relationship was somewhere between cousin and friend. Or at least it had been. He'd been the older, knowledgeable cousin while she was the child he was watching grow up. He'd been kept at an arm's distance at the request of Revan and others – it was safest that way. She was a young, innocent woman in a war a lot of the lonely men had lost interest in fighting in.

But he'd always admired her. It excited him now to get an opportunity to know her up close and personal.

She was all grown up now, that was for sure. Despite himself, he found himself looking at her adult features. She was a beautiful woman, but hurting and small. Someone who he wanted to take care of. That almost felt wrong, but it was hard to look at her and not notice how different she was.

Bao-Dur was wandering through the ship's interior when he heard her speaking to the man called Atton. Bao-Dur liked Atton. He had a good heart, even though he was determined not to let anybody know about it. Atton was lost in his own way – even though when the two of them spoke, the General and Atton, something about it just seemed to fit together nicely.

It reminded Bao-Dur of his wife, how he and his wife had once been when she was alive, which made Bao-Dur's chest ache as much as it smiled.

"It is nice to see you smile," Atton whispered in a voice Bao-Dur had never heard the rough man use on anybody else. "It's…you look good."

"I feel good," Bao-Dur heard her whisper.

Bao-Dur peeked around the corner, and he saw her reach tentatively to take his wrists in her hands. He didn't move away, and the General looked overjoyed. That shyness that was so endearing really shined through then, and it was clear both Bao-Dur and Atton noticed.

"I haven't felt this good in a long time," she told Atton happily.

It made Bao-Dur's heart swell.

"Yeah, well…" Atton began, but when he looked up at her, he stopped.

His eyes lingered in hers for a moment longer than was necessary before shutting again.

"It's good to see," he continued after a while.

Bao-Dur wanted to laugh.

Like two teenagers struggling to figure out their issues.

Bao-Dur couldn't help but find it mildly amusing. He felt like a father who was watching his little girl catch the attention of her first boy, though he had to admit that she'd likely drawn the attention of countless individuals since he'd last seen her.

His eyes flitted to her more womanly features before returning back respectfully to her face.

"It was…something Chodo Habat did," the General explained.

She'd told Bao-Dur the whole story, and he felt grateful to this Ithorian for helping his General. She'd given Bao-Dur even small, irrelevant details, but Bao-Dur didn't mind. He liked to listen to her talk, and he had eagerly been willing to take on the burden of her troubles if it only meant her eyes would light up, her cheeks would flush with the vigor of her storytelling.

She sure liked to talk – that much had never changed.

"I can…I feel…"

The General trailed off passionately.

"I don't know how to tell it to you. But I feel so _good_, Atton, like I'm…I just feel so good."

"That makes me happy, sweets," Atton said, his fingers twitching in her direction again before curling back up.

Atton even glanced at the General to see if she'd seen, and the younger man looked relieved when it seemed as if she hadn't – as if Bao-Dur wouldn't notice, though.

The Zabrak smiled gently.

Like pubescent teenagers.

"You've…you've got sort of this glow about you," Atton complimented quietly. "It's almost unnatural, but when you look right at you it's gone again. Is that crazy?"

Bao-Dur laughed quietly as the General blushed in a way that was absolutely perfect. By the gods, Bao-Dur admired her.

"Maybe a little," she admitted to the other human. "But that's okay. I'm crazy enough for us both."

They met eyes again and a companionable silence soured after a moment just a little longer than it usually seemed to between them.

Because it almost always did.

"Well, not that my complimenting you means anything special," Atton began, leaning back and closing his eyes as if to go to sleep.

And there it was.

Bao-Dur sensed as much as he felt in himself the barb, the thwacking of the stick that might as well have read, "Get back, she-demon!"

It made Bao-Dur sad, even as he heard the younger man continued, oblivious, unaffected, or both to the shift in her mood. Which, of course, being the smart man that he was, Bao-Dur noticed.

A weight had returned to her shoulders, the glow gone, the pride diminished, the power made dark.

"But I'm thinking that there was another reason you came up here? To my trusty pilot's chair?"

She smirked, or pretended to. The difference between it and the real thing was obvious, and it made Bao-Dur unhappy. But Atton peeked open one of his eyes to look at her, wrapping his hands lazily around his center, and the lighthearted motion made the General smile in earnest again.

"You saved me," she whispered to him quietly, a question.

His neck turned abruptly at this, and his once sleepy eyes now seemed alert.

"What did you say?" Atton asked, seemingly dumbfounded.

The General, so full of fear that was new in these days, backpedaled immediately, as if she'd uttered some terrible faux pas that wasn't acceptable between friends. She'd always been that way. She was just awkward.

But all Jedi were in their own way.

"Nothing," she gushed, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

He turned away again, obviously aware of this shift, and it silenced her.

"No," Atton stated with a strange tone. "I didn't mean…"

He seemed almost angry now. Bao-Dur couldn't tell at whom. But if he was made at his General, at Nuneli, he'd definitely have to step forward, stop eavesdropping, make her less lost.

But Atton didn't seem to be angry with her.

"It's fine," she continued, shaking her head. "I shouldn't have…I –"

"No, say what you were going to say," Atton urged, sitting forward now, guilt written all over his face.

It satisfied Bao-Dur. At least the young man was aware, even if he did try to keep her back.

"Atton," the General interrupted sternly, "it's okay, you don't need to baby me. I can just –"

"Neli," Atton said, looking at her earnestly now.

A new urgency was there. A need.

"Say it," he urged.

She inhaled. She exhaled.

Bao-Dur held his breath.

"Okay," she whispered cautiously. "Well…here I am, talking about me so much and I haven't…given you a chance to talk about you."

Atton stiffened as Bao-Dur relaxed.

_Was that all_?

Bao-Dur _knew_ the young man wouldn't divulge a single drop of truth out of himself, even if she tortured him within an inch of his life.

"I'm really very boring," Atton began, but she squeezed his wrist.

"No, no, I'm not asking. Promise."

She held up a finger and he eyed it with furrowed brows in confusion. A few seconds passed this way.

"What?" she asked innocently, gesturing for him to replicate the position.

She thrust it towards him, but Atton didn't seem to understand. Sighing good-naturedly, the General took his hand, held up his finger, and wrapped it around her own.

"It's a promise. A pinky promise."

Atton held his hand there, clearly enamored with the pact, however small.

It made the scene suddenly a lot more desperate, reeking with a lot more latent issues than it had once seemed to.

Made Bao-Dur sad.

If he was _really_ a smart man, he would have left then, but in a weird kind of way, Bao-Dur was enamored with the pact between them too.

"Anyway," she said, clearing her throat as she looked out into space, their fingers still suspended together. "I just mean…I'm sorry I haven't asked you very much."

She released him and Atton's spell was broken. He looked dazed and then serious, his eyes evenly watching her profile as her mouth likely moved in the shining light of the hyperspace outside. Her back was now to Bao-Dur, so he could only guess how beautiful she looked in that light.

"You must think I'm the biggest, most selfish woman in the galaxy," the General joked self-deprecatingly.

Atton let out an appreciative noise, like he was relieved what she had to say wasn't more difficult.

"Actually, to be honest, I like that you don't ask questions."

_Me too_, Bao-Dur found himself thinking.

The General seemed relieved, and Bao-Dur thought it showed because Atton's eyes lit up a little.

"Well, alright then," she said. "I just wanted to say thank you. For. You know. Saving me and…helping me and all that. Thanks. You've obviously been through a lot –"

"Well…" Atton interrupted. "So have you."

"But I've been forcing my issues onto you this whole time," she said to him, finally turning her head and neck to look at him. "That's not fair. And I'm sorry. And…"

She paused again.

"If you want to go, you can. Tell me where to go, I'll make it happen."

Atton looked as if he'd been struck now.

Disappointment seeped out of every one of his features. Darkened eyes, a sagging mouth, a lax jaw, loose posture, even looser than before.

"What?" Atton asked.

"I mean, you're not a big fan of Jedi. I know that."

She squirmed in is gaze.

"I'd get it if you wanted to be away from me. I really would. I know I'm emotional. And I talk a lot, and I'm dangerous company. And besides, this isn't your fight. You've said it a hundred times. And I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do."

She smiled her best smile at him, so convincing that she was alright with the suggestion even though Bao-Dur, and Atton probably did too, given his experience with pazaak and people's tells, could tell it hurt her thinking about it.

Atton didn't seem to know what to do with this, so she stood determinedly.

"Just let me know," she ordered.

She was walking out towards Bao-Dur when Atton spoke, and she turned back around.

"Well…"

Atton laughed uncomfortably.

"I was just…complaining –earlier, I mean. I'm with you until things start going better for you."

She crossed her arms.

"We need to stick together, you know? And who knows…I might be able to help you out of a tight spot at some point."

"A tight spot?" she asked him skeptically.

Atton's turn to leer in that way Bao-Dur didn't approve of.

"I'm pretty good at getting _into_ tight spots too," he told her, also standing. "Especially ones that involve women."

The innuendo was not lost on the General, and the crossing of her arms became more tightly entwined protectively around her torso.

Atton noticed and his leer backed off, much to Bao-Dur's relief. He didn't want to have to step forward.

He really should move away.

But when he heard his name, he knew he just couldn't.

"Unless, of course, your tight spots are all…reserved for Bao-Dur."

Her back still to Bao-Dur, he couldn't read her expression.

"So…what are you two?" Atton asked her cautiously, shifting in the pilot's chair as he readjusted back to his previously languid position.

"People who trust each other," she replied immediately.

The answer made Bao-Dur happy. The General always did have a way with words.

"He knew you before?" Atton asked, still shocked by this implication.

"Hm…" she replied delicately. "I suppose, though it was my job to lead a lot of people. He and I weren't particularly close."

"Why was that?"

"He was a mechanic and I was a General," she stated, shrugging.

Atton made a snarky noise.

"He not good enough for you or something?"

"What?"

"I mean, what's that supposed to mean?"

She sighed. The intimate, positive moment they'd just shared was gone irrevocably, and it made Bao-Dur sad to see two people obvious so damaged trying to proceed on like everything was fine when it wasn't.

Bao-Dur had just stopped trying altogether.

"What I mean is that I was separate from the soldiers, mostly, I guess."

Atton snorted.

"Why? Too down and dirty for you?"

"I was sixteen years old, and my master told me that men were…lonely…during war."

Her tone had become delicate, and Bao-Dur saw from his vantage point the look of consternation that now lit on Atton's face. Also tinted with a hint of something loyal.

"So…you had never…"

Atton didn't finish his question, and Bao-Dur probably should have taken the excuse to move away, but he enjoyed listening to her talk, even if him listening was likely an invasion of her privacy.

A moment of pause. And then:

"Why do you always ask me that question?" the General snapped testily. "You don't see me asking how many sex partners _you've_ had or when you lost _your_ virginity! Give it a rest! It gets old!"

Turning indignantly on her heel, the General stormed out right past Bao-Dur, shaking her head at him as he passed, as if he was just arriving. She didn't appear to realize he'd heard the entire thing. Bao-Dur remained for just a few moments longer in the hallway before he heard the younger man mutter, "Stupid _idiot_…"

With a pinched sort of feeling, tinged with guilt at having heard an awkward exchange, Bao-Dur made his way back to the more battered parts of the ship, wishing that he was just a little bit smarter and had had enough sense to walk away before things got ugly like that.

Because, all in all, Bao-Dur wasn't _that_ smart. He'd never been very good at knowing when to let go. He guessed that was likely a habit they all shared.

Unfocused, in a daze, Bao-Dur walked away, trying to remain focused on taking inventory of all that needed to be repaired on their next stop.


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note: Sorry, friends! I'm _sorry _it's been so long! Being a senior undergrad is tough! I am _ready _to graduate! I promise I won't abandon this, though, as I've said. I'm doing as much as I can, and as I have time I will post chapters. I have a few in mind, actually, so it might not be too long from now. This one is kind of fluffy and only minimally advances the plot, but the juice is coming, I think. I don't know. We'll see! I appreciate those who've stuck with me thus far. Reviews are always welcome!**

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><p>Dantooine made me feel angry.<p>

Because it was "home."

And that just didn't feel like anything anymore.

The sensation that I desperately ached for no longer existed.

It was the first place I hadn't been shot down, which, honestly, didn't really shock me. I almost congratulated Atton, but I was so nervous that I didn't really want to talk to anybody, let alone the only man in our little party who had a propensity to make me nervous. He seemed to notice because our flight there was met with terse, uncomfortable silences and nervous glances and clearings of throats.

Bao-Dur was the only one who seemed to understand that I wanted to be left alone, so I found myself hovering around the rooms in which he liked to tinker most. He worked incessantly on the ship, and the look on his face always made me envious. He could tune it out. Tune everything out.

I'd never been good at that. Ever.

So when the woman on that first planet bristled at my mention of Jedi, I did too.

"You must be here to join in the plunder of the old Jedi Enclave. You'll have to see Administrator Adare first."

Atton stiffened. Bao-Dur shifted on the balls of his feet. Kreia, thankfully, wasn't there because she likely wouldn't have approved of my mood.

"_What_ are you talking about?" I snapped.

She told me. Salvagers. Slicing.

Ruins.

The word hit me.

_Ruins_.

Tears welled in my eyes, but not of loss. This had always been a possibility, even a likelihood. The Sith had gone out of their way to destroy my way of life. Me too. In fact, as the woman and I separated, as she wandered back to do whatever it was she had been doing before, the horrible thought crossed my mind that maybe they'd even specifically gone after that Enclave because of me specifically.

Maybe I wasn't just another face.

Maybe I was Revan's old flame, Revan's old _bitch_, some prize thing that they'd take pleasure in ruining the memory of.

Made me feel sick.

Maybe I was just feeling sick.

We returned to the ship that day waiting for Administrator Adare to return. And we waited for three days.

A lot could happen in three days.

That droid, for instance. It _knew_ me.

And I _pored_ over it.

"Droid, initiate playback of me sparring again," I ordered after a while.

The sun beat down on my back and a trickle of sweat slid down my neck and spine as it disappeared into my clothes. I was feeling faint, but I didn't want to stop.

A younger me, a me who laughed, sparred with the same handsome master I still sometimes dreamt about. My breath left me as I demanded the droid stop. In mid-stance, my lightsaber pointed masterfully at the ground, I evaluated my old stance.

_Sloppy_, they Council would say.

That happy smile would falter and I would put the saber away, wishing I'd never volunteered to go first – and I was _always_ the one who volunteered to go first.

I heard Atton come up behind me. I was beginning to recognize the feeling of him. It almost felt like holding the sharp end of a blade by the knife – pleasing to the touch, cool, smooth, but jagged if one pressed too hard. I never meant to press too hard, but sometimes unconsciously it would seem as if I did it without even thinking.

"Who's that?" he mumbled, chewing on something or other.

I could tell he wasn't really looking. The woman who'd first greeted me had a habit of flaunting around the hangar just to see him, and I could tell he enjoyed it.

Made me feel itchy.

Shaking my head, clenching my jaw, I shook my head, grunting a little bit. I noticed that it was hard to swallow, but I ignored the sensation, trying again to focus on the me that was here.

"Hello?" Atton pressed, coming up next to me.

In the warm heat, he'd removed his shirt, and I needed only to glance at him once to be alarmed by how appealing the slick sheen of sweat was upon his chest. It looked so much more fascinating than it used to, and I gritted my teeth, feeling frustrated.

For the first time since forever ago, for the first time _really_, I was feeling the physical longing of attraction. It was hard and…

Made me feel itchy.

Like I wanted to put my mouth on his skin.

_Strange_…I thought to myself.

It was always worse when Atton was around, and, this close to me, I felt almost like I couldn't breathe. The sweat that had begun to gather at the base of the small of my back intensified as I wondered how many times would have been inappropriate to glance at his chest.

_Probably five_, I thought.

Well.

Maybe six.

Atton's hand woke me up from my reverie. I jumped, but I didn't wince as much as I normally did.

Small steps, each and every day.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked me, his eyes cinching in.

I shook my head, turning back to look at my younger visage.

"Look," I grumbled, crossing my arms.

He did.

"Shit, Neli…" Atton whispered.

He glanced at me, his mouth tight, before advancing into the hologram to peer at my face. He stood there for a long time, peering at me. Even then, I was short, and he towered over the me. It made him look like a giant, peering down at a slave he'd want to purchase.

"That's you…" he clarified unnecessarily.

I cleared my throat, feeling uncomfortable. There was a moment of intense, contemplative silence.

"Hot..." Atton finally said, taking a bite of the fruit in his mouth again.

Growling, I took my sandal off and chucked it as hard as I could at the back of Atton's head where it slapped him with a rich "thwack."

"Ow!" he snapped, whirling around.

But he was smirking, and I found it hard to even look mad.

Besides, I was feeling tired and sweaty. Sleep wasn't easy these days.

"I would have been sixteen then, you pervert!" I snapped half-heartedly.

He grimaced at the insult.

"Oh, and you can't have been hot then, could you?" he grumbled sarcastically, rubbing the back of his head for effect.

"I'm tired of you calling me that!" I shot back at him spitefully. "You're so predictable. It gets old, Atton, please."

This was childish and a low blow, but he didn't fail to rise to the challenge.

"Gee, thanks," he quipped. "I'm so glad you're in one of those moods again."

"Again? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you freak out whenever I look at you. Hard not to, princess. Whether you like it or not, people are going to see you now. Especially if we piece together a lightsaber for you. Just deal with it."

He had a point, and I needed to acclimate.

But my throat was sore, and I didn't care. I wanted to be angry, and I wanted to beat him back with a long pole.

Even if I also wanted to place two shivering palms against a chest that looked like it was as hard as a rock.

"Whatever," I finally snapped, shaking myself out of these thoughts. "Just leave me alone and go look for somebody else to fork for the night, could you?"

Like he'd been struck, he took a step back.

"Why do you always assume that's my angle?"

"Isn't it?"

"Whatever, screw you."

But he didn't leave. He was as childish as I was. I sighed.

"I just want to get those crystals and then _get _out of here so we can build this thing and be done with it."

"Fine with me, princess," he shot back, rolling his eyes. "But in the meantime, I think I am going to find something more _entertaining_ to do. Maybe some_one_. How's that sound?"

He stormed off.

Feigning bemusement, I returned to the daunting task of watching my old self spar with a lightsaber that Atris now carried. After a few minutes, I heard the woman laugh, a flirtatious, full thing that was pleasing to the ear. It was that damn woman, laughing it up with her big boobs and her wide hips.

_Damn you_, I thought angrily to Atton, clenching my fists.

She was prettier than I was.

I managed to stop the hologram to peek around the corner of the ship. She was leaning against the railing on a far wall. Atton's neck was bent into her neck, and her face communicated the level of pleasure she took from his attentions in this matter.

With an instantly beating heart, I raced up the ramp and onto the deck of the ship, feeling a bizarre sinking feeling in my gut and a ringing sensation in my ears. I withdrew into the confines of my room and slammed the door shut manually, swinging myself around. The cool air of the ship was a sharp contrast to the setting sun outside, and I felt light headed as I sank to the ground by means of the nearest wall.

Feeling itchy and bad and worked up, I closed my eyes, trying hard to rid myself of the image of Atton's mouth and tongue suckling the seductive curves of that vile woman's neck.

* * *

><p>Nar Shaddaa was a hard place to be.<p>

Certain places just had a smell to them. I'd learned that a long time ago. War smelled like blood, which was unforgettable, almost salty, and somehow it had a way of clinging to your mouth and making you feel like alcohol couldn't even wash it away. Somehow, blood and despair seemed to smell the same. An aura of death, an aching, stomach-clenching feeling that took a long time to drown out. Guns smelled like fire, burning. Melting plastic, a smell you could sense beyond your senses, one that hung on your cheeks and warmed your mouth.

Nar Shadaa was absolutely no different. It smelled like…desperation.

And dirt, somehow, which was ironic considering that the closest naturally occurring dirt was likely miles beneath where we'd landed the ship. I'd been dirty in every way a man possibly could have been dirty when I'd first come here, and it made me feel itchy again with remembering.

Especially when some beautiful angel was leading me around by my groin.

It was undeniable.

I wanted her again.

More than ever.

I pretended that I didn't because every time I drifted too close, she would recoil – and I hated the way that made me feel, all messed up inside, so I found release in the arms of other women. Doing so was not difficult on Nar Shadaa. Women were in high demand, and I was a good looking guy.

I had trouble committing now, though. I went to bars, and I'd work myself into a desperation. I'd feel my sexual frustration building, desperate and vulgar, and I'd ache with knowing release was near. When images of _Neli_ would crawl into my brain, and I'd scowl inwardly. That was when I would get angry.

And, to make a point, I'd usually push it beyond what I ought to have.

We were trying to lay low, after all. I couldn't exactly do that if people started to recognize me as the luckiest spacer in the refugee sector. Or at least, the one who was getting lucky.

I'd return, and she'd say nothing – make a point to say nothing, even. But I liked to think that she was excruciatingly aware of where I was.

Pretending made me feel satisfied.

Because she most certainly wasn't going to give me any satisfaction. She was so dedicated to finding the parts for a lightsaber again that she'd stopped talking to me almost completely.

We had almost all of the components to the lightsaber now, and I was ashamed of how eager I was for the process to be over so that she would talk to me again, so that she might not look so pale, malnourished, sickly.

And she was always _training_.

Training, training, training.

It was infuriating to watch, and exhausting – but it didn't stop me from watching. There was solace in looking at her, like I needed to be perpetually reminded that she was still there.

I'd come back late, and she'd said nothing. I'd pretended to move into the kitchenette on the ship, but this was a farce. I was going to watch her, watch her meditate, watch her "focus" on the stupid little pieces that didn't mean anything to me. So, when she laid the pieces out before her, I hovered in the corners of adjacent rooms, watching out of the corner of my eyes.

We would be returning to Dantooine in the morning, and I knew things would be different once that symbol was strapped to her waist, I found myself thinking. It made me feel angry and defensive, almost like I wished she didn't need it, even as I knew she did. Neli was easily scared by the physical advances of other people. That realization made me itch, and, Jedi or not, I did like the princess. So, if having a symbol kept other people from attacking her, that was what I wanted her to have.

I came to from these inner monologues, glancing at her, only to realize that her eyes were closed. She was perched, legs crossed, in the middle of the room, hands resting gently on her knees, palms up. She had that glow about her I'd only ever noticed out of the corner of my eye, and the pieces of the weapon before her were twisting into each other in synchronization in mid-air.

This blatant display of Force usage so close to me was shocking, but, after I'd retreated away with a wildly beating heart, I convinced myself to look again.

Yes, in mid-air, the pieces were forming into one another in a way that was beautiful and miraculous. Precious, even. Enamored, my eyes fell to the blade as the pieces fit together slowly, surely, into a fashion I recognized painfully well.

Back to her face, I saw a look of peace that was never there when she was aware of her surroundings. There was no agony; there were no memories. She was just her. Her being her, her and the Force. A stern, frighteningly determined line spread her mouth across her kaffa colored skin, and if her eyes were open, I was sure I would have seen a fire in them – the fire of a leader, a spitfire, a general.

A _General_.

General Hyrra.

_This_ was General Hyrra.

Not Neli.

This was a woman who was very, very beautiful, a woman who, right in those very brief seconds, looked like she'd been through some bad things, but that was alright because she was here, ready to be in it.

I felt envy, anxiety, and fear with shocking clarity in the space of a split second when –

Suddenly, there was a bang in the next room. Bao-Dur had dropped something; his muttering swears carried here. The pieces that had once hovered before her closed eyes now found themselves strewn loudly across the floor in front of her lap, not quite fastened together. I found myself glancing at her wide-eyed, as if I'd been caught peeking at her naked, and her expression reflected this feeling.

Nervously, feeling breathless, I stood up, feeling strangely out of place.

I bade her good night, making up an excuse to get back to my place in the cockpit, and I leaned back to try to sleep.

But that look of her…belongingness…was so vivid that I knew sleep wouldn't be coming my way any time soon.

Because she was here.

And I knew it.

All at once, Neli was fused with General Hyrra, and the two women became one. They were the same. I wasn't just friends with some woman who'd gotten lost and suffered through some crazy shit. I was friends with a war hero, a legend.

I was literally walking in the shadow of a goddess, and, for the first time ever, that didn't seem like such a completely terrible thing.


	29. Chapter 29

**So, sorry. I'm trying. I'm graduating this week, so that's good. But this story is giving me some trouble. I know where I want to be, and I've written that part, but there's a huge gap and this filler stuff is hard for me to write. So, again, sorry, folks! Doing my best. Hope the crank out time will be a bit faster though. Just FYI.**

* * *

><p>Bao-Dur could stand a lot of things.<p>

Her temper, for instance. Bao-Dur felt comfortable being berated and yelled at, unfairly or not, because he had been a military man all his life. Well before the war, the military had been his career. He hadn't anticipated seeing any action, and his children would have grown up knowing that their father was away at war. So, falling in line, doing what he was told, that was okay with Bao-Dur.

And she was telling him to do a lot of things, which was unusual for her.

Dantooine made her angry, Bao-Dur could tell. She was acting short with others, and others were acting short with her. She hid her lightsaber deep in loose fitting clothes that she only wore when she had to. It was a Dantooinian summer now, so the sun was out constantly, and the heat made wearing anything that wasn't completely necessary torturous. She seemed less bothered by this than everybody else, probably because of her tropical blood.

Or, perhaps, because she'd grown up on this planet from a fairly young age. She knew what to do and when to do it, what to wear and how to wear it, to avoid the sting of the particularly unpleasant faces of the elements outside of the climate-controlled ship.

She wore very little in the heat: a tight undershirt, her abdomen partially exposed, and high leggings tucked into boots that looked comfortable for walking and running. She wore a variation of robes only when they went out, and even then they were limited to her torso. None of the long robes for her. Bao-Dur kind of liked this take of Jedi robes on her. If she was truly to be the newest, boldest generation of Jedi, and also the last, he figured she could do whatever she wanted to do with the robes and that was that. Her clothes weren't quite the typical browns and grays of the Jedi. No, they were oranges and yellows, maybe even blues. She didn't seem to want to acclimate to that part of her Jedi self yet.

But there were other parts of her that were simply angrier than he'd ever remembered. She used to have a temper that only came out when drawn into the light with some struggle. It was out frequently now, and Bao-Dur knew it frustrated her. She would almost always look around as if she were surprised by the slip up, like she hadn't meant to say the things she said. It seemed out of character for her to be shouting down strangers, but it had already happened multiple times in their first weeks on Dantooine.

But Bao-Dur had trouble standing the way people talked to her. The people didn't like her kind, that was why. Made Bao-Dur feel complete disgust for these freeloaders, for these people who he'd fought to protect. It was because of people like the General and him and probably Atton, who still didn't admit that he'd fought in the war, that they even had the right to call her out on anything.

And they did call her out sometimes.

Especially that first woman, the woman Atton seemed to hang around. Bao-Dur thought he did it just to piss Neli off because Bao-Dur knew that Atton wasn't really as seedy as he acted, but that didn't improve her mood.

No, too often, she was storming around practicing motions with her lightsaber, which was a violet blue, or meditating in midair or running off by herself into a field to exercise. She liked to exercise, and Bao-Dur knew that it was good for her in moderation. But she did it a little too much, and it worried him sometimes.

He caught her once, running off into a field, but his eyes weren't on her legs or her speed, but her face. She was crying.

She was trying to depend less and less on them, to depend on herself, but Bao-Dur knew dependence on others was a hard lesson to forget. When his wife had been killed, going home meant almost nothing, and adjusting to the nothing was surprisingly easy once despair took hold. Being back again was strangely pleasant though, and it became frustrating when he couldn't just recede back into solitude and darkness. He wanted to rely on people now, and it was hard to rely on himself.

Atton had been complaining lately, which bit at Bao-Dur's resolve to be silent. He, too, seemed to be in a bad mood. It was almost like when he was, she was, when she was, he was. It would have been amusing to watch, if it didn't mean misery for the whole ship. And it did mean misery for the whole ship.

They ate together every night, which was a strange ritual. Like a bizarre, broken family, each would convene around roughly the same time to eat in silence, sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes companionable. Bao-Dur noticed that the General often tried to be closer to him than the other two. Not to talk, really. But she was around and Bao-Dur liked it. There was comfort in him, he recognized, and that was okay.

He busied himself prepping her ship for launch. Not that they were going anywhere. It was in bad need of repairs, but that was okay. Things that needed fixing still worked, and there was a thrill of bringing a machine back from the brink of death that gave his life meaning and purpose. Probably had something to do with his dead wife, but what did that matter? Issues were issues, and people had a million ways to deal with them. This was his way.

Bao-Dur couldn't stand the way the old woman spoke to Neli, though. Like Neli was an ignorant child to be belittled and besmirched for her very legitimate fears and worries. It was obvious to everybody that Neli had been abused in her exile. Bao-Dur didn't know how. He didn't know when. He didn't even know if he wanted to know. But he did know that she was struggling to get out of her own way, and the scow was doing nothing to help. In fact, she was frequently at odds with the older woman in a way that, again, would have been amusing had it not cast a dark and depressing shadow over the whole ship.

So, when Bao-Dur saw her running back towards the ship from over the hill of the nearest field, he was relieved that Kreia was nowhere to be found. He saw the General from a distance and decided to go into the ship to prepare her a cool glass of water. She'd need it. It was especially hot that day, and she shouldn't have been exercising, even though it was nearly dinner time and the sun was low in the sky.

He waited for a few moments for her to arrive, to hear her slowed, lethargic, exhausted steps resound from the loading ramp, thudding military-style as she ascended.

But, instead, she didn't stop. She flew up the small ramp, turning the sharp corner around the ship. Bao-Dur opened his mouth to speak when a look in her eyes, a single glance, silenced him completely.

She flung her hands into her hair, tight, twisting braids that were beautiful and damp with the salt of her sweat. Tears weren't in her eyes, exactly, but her knuckles were bruised and there was a budding, swelling sore on the far edge of her face.

She'd been in a fight.

"What happened?" Bao-Dur asked her, stepping forward urgently.

"They're there, Bae," she told me loudly. "The Mandalorians. They're there. Out there. _Salvaging_. I heard them talking. They wanted to pillage my home, my _home_, Bae!"

Understanding fleshed out in Bao-Dur's brain quickly, and he made an "ah" kind of sound for it.

"And you hurt them," he announced, a question.

"Yes, I did," she replied angrily, her voice rife with contradictory guilt. "And I don't know why. I don't like this bond! I don't like it!"

"What bond?"

"The one I have with Atton! He's so angry! I feel him all the time! He's so, so angry at the galaxy. How do I stop feeling that way?"

Bao-Dur pursed his lips.

"I don't know, General."

She grunted, jogging over to the sink to run water over her hands. In frustration, she scrubbed, shaking her head at herself. She seemed genuinely too upset to cry about it. She was acting strangely. It didn't seem to make sense.

"Maybe you should talk to Kreia about it," Bao-Dur admitted reluctantly.

"I know, but she's just going to yell at me about it," she snapped back.

Turning back to the Zabrak, she just sighed.

"I'm going to head out and find Atton. Have you seen him?"

"No, I—"

"Did somebody say my name?" Atton drawled from the loading ramp.

"You," she snarled. "Outside. Now."

He emerged, blinking in surprise, but as she stormed past him his eyes followed her like a bug to light, the cynosure of her radiant frustration evident as if it were a swarm around her head in the air. Anxiously, Bao-Dur followed the two of them into the secluded courtyard. The hangar wasn't in very heavy use and all the workers, including that horrible woman, were likely home with their families. They would not have an audience, which made Bao-Dur relieved.

"What is your problem?" she shouted.

But she didn't sound upset. She sounded confused, and Atton, to his credit, seemed to notice.

"What did I do now?" he asked tentatively, mercifully free of his usual drawl.

"You're in my head all the time, and now I just beat the _shit_ out of three Mandalorians because I couldn't keep my temper in check!"

Atton grinned, clearly impressed.

"Whoa, really?"

"Don't 'whoa, really,' me, Atton! That would never have happened before I bonded with you! Now could you keep your emotions out of mine because I don't like the way that feels!"

She leaned forward, and Bao-Dur definitely noticed now. Something was wrong with her.

Atton didn't seem to notice this time.

"_You_ don't?" he repeated. "How do you think I feel? Some preachy Jedi threatening to overcome my dreams every night? You couldn't handle it, princess, even if you did, but it would be nice if you stopped trying."

"Like I'd _try_ to watch you charge up some slut's power converters."

"You think that's all I dream about?"

"Well, I don't know! I'm never in your dreams, so how could I know?"

"Look, what is your problem? Hello, by the way! Nice to see you too!"

"And where were you?" she snapped. "Off gallivanting with that stupid bitch who works in the space hangar?"

Bao-Dur's heart sank as his eyes searched the human man's features. His clothes looked mildly disheveled and his hair was mussed and a little greasy, as if physical effort had been one of the main aspects of his afternoon's pleasantries.

For some reason, it made Bao-Dur a little angry. He could see the way Atton and the General looked at each other. The man was deflecting, Bao-Dur could see, but he wanted Neli like a bantha wanted grass. Wasting his time with women like _that_ woman was just petty and cruel and pathetic.

"What if I was?" Atton finally replied after glaring at her for an extended period of time. "_You_ were the one who decided to leave Nar Shadaa for this shit hole!"

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry, Atton, really I am, that you don't have an endless stream of honeys waiting for you around every corner! I guess that slut will just have to do while we wade through endless streams of worthless refugees!"

"Look, what's your _problem_?" Atton asked louder, an edge taking shape in his voice. "You're acting like a bigger bitch than usual, and that's saying something."

"Now, Atton," Bao-Dur interjected, but Neli cut him off.

"I'm being a bitch? Fine! I'm leaving then! See ya!"

She turned on her heel and began to storm off. Bao-Dur trailed after her nervously, but Atton was more proactive in his pursuit.

"I'm here, aren't I?" he yelled, chasing after her to grab her arm. "I'm here! I've helped you with the caves! With the refugees! With Zherron, the great and terrible! What do you want from me?"

Abruptly, she stopped, her back to them both.

"I don't know!" she shouted, yanking out of his grip. "I don't know what I want, but I…"

That was when it happened.

She swayed.

Both men made an "easy now" kind of noise as they crowded around her, and her hands met her forehead.

Neli was ill.

That was a big deal for a Jedi, he heard once. If a Jedi was ill, it was a bad thing. Bao-Dur came around her, putting a hand on her back, and she turned weakly to look at him.

"Help me," she whimpered, and her knees gave out.

Bao-Dur took her into his arms as her eyes closed. Hurriedly, the two men brought her into the ship where it was much cooler. Only in here was Bao-Dur aware of her terrible heat. She was burning with fever. Even for her, her temperature was warmer than it should have been.

Worriedly, Bao-Dur made to put her in the medical bed when Kreia emerged.

"You two are both fools," Kreia spat spitefully.

"Whatever, lady," Atton drawled back, "just back off. Neli's feeling sick."

"Obviously. Did you not pay attention to her feelings in the Force? Despite your attempts to hide it, we are both aware that you can feel some things."

This was news to Bao-Dur, who glanced up at Atton in surprise as Neli's form settled on the cool, clean bed.

"And even if you had not," the old woman continued, "her behavior has clearly been affected by an event. Practice, for once, some awareness, pilot."

"Whatever you say, she-witch. And what was it that I was supposed to be feeling, supposedly?"

"Despair. Fear. Doubt. Sadness. Grief."

The two men stood tall.

"Why was she feeling those things?" Atton asked, his attitude thoroughly neutered by the claim.

"She saw the Jedi enclave today," Kreia whispered angrily.

"So?" Atton asked, a glutton for punishment.

"So, she grew up there, _fool_! Sentimental and foolish as it may be, it was her home. Her life. And it has been destroyed utterly by the forces that now hound us. Not only that, but she caught her most vile and hated enemy from the war discussing the loot from the only place she has ever considered to be sacred and safe. And yet you would press her further, show her no sympathy, pretend, in your desperate and pathetic attempts to drown it out by indulging in your own lusts, that you felt nothing of this."

Atton just clenched his jaw.

"Her home is destroyed. It will never be again. And this is the first time that she is being made aware of the physical culmination of that truth. She does nothing but squander her own feelings in favor of your own, both of you. Be more _considerate_ of her needs in the future, or I will _end_ you both without a second thought."

"Didn't know you were so protective of your _charge_," Atton drawled back, his shield back up.

"Be silent now or I will cut your tongue out and feed it to you, pawn," she snapped back.

The two exchanged significant, and hateful, glances before Atton's eyes retreated to Neli's broken form.

"Fine," Atton snapped, staring hard at Neli's face, "just leave us alone."

She didn't need to be told twice. In seconds, Kreia was gone again, and the two of us were left to contemplate the sad truth that the General's home had been destroyed. Empathy was hard to swallow, but I'd swallowed it at so many times that it just tasted like bad medicine.

"Really think it's destroyed?" Atton muttered to me, staring at her face.

"Would that surprise you?" Bao-Dur replied. "Jedi have been nearly wiped out. Dantooine took a hard hit when Malak bombarded it with his fleet. Why would one enclave have survived?"

Atton pursed his lips.

"I guess I just didn't realize we'd be going...to her home, I didn't..."

Atton seemed angry and he crossed his arms uncomfortably.

"I was a dick, wasn't I?"

"You cursed at her," was all Bao-Dur said, pressing a cool towel to her neck gently.

Atton pursed his lips again before swearing quietly under his breath, shooting out of the room. After a few moments, Bao-Dur heard him descend the loading ramp. Sighing, the older Zabrak just shook his head and turned his diligent and loyal attentions back to his old leader and friend.


	30. Chapter 30

Terena Adare was a beautiful woman. Something about her eyes spoke volumes to me, more than any datacron ever could. Her eyes communicated deep sensitivity, profound intelligence, awareness, and cunning of spirit. Her feeling in the Force was kind and strong, and it made me feel wistful. It was the same kind of feeling I'd used to get when I fought in the war as a little girl. The same kind of feeling padawans had for their masters. The one I had for mine.

She was a leader, compassionate, but firm, stern, yet understanding.

I liked her immediately, especially as she rose to greet me.

Such was a respect I'd not had in many years. Normally, harsh glances, critical evaluations, thrusted insults and jabs, physical parries and attacks.

Chivalry and politeness had died with my order.

Anxiously, unwanting to misstep, I glanced back at Atton and Bao Dur. Bao Dur's eyes were comforting in their knowledge of my fear of facing others, whereas Atton's eyes just permeated nerves: a common side effect of trailing along behind a "no good, do-good Jedi," he called it.

My eyes then flitted to the woman Atton favored, a worker in Khoonda, who was batting sweet eyelashes at Atton from across the room to try to earn his attention - not that it would have been hard. The woman, who had a nice neck and the long legs of most core world brats, was _good _at this seduction business. My eyes flitted to her collar bone, inappropriately flaunting it out in public, of all places. The indecency. She saw me looking and her smirk widened, taking on a cruelness I couldn't abide. To spite her, I took confident steps forward, trying hard - and failing - to ignore that challenging smirk that rose up as our eyes met and passed one another.

"You're the visitor," Adare told me as I strode forward, feeling like my arms were too lanky at my sides.

I wished that my strides were longer and that my height was taller - like Atton. He was tall, even for the Outer Rim, and more than once I'd envied his ability to reach high places.

_Focus_, I heard Kreia order.

_Right. Sorry_.

Adare placed her hands respectfully onto her thighs before leaning forward, bowing slightly. I repeated the gesture, causing the stern woman to smile out of the corner of her mouth slightly.

"Please, come in," Adare declared, motioning for the three of us to take a drink, which a droid had materialized from a side room.

I took a cup automatically but knew better than to drink. The droid shuffled over to Atton and Bao Dur, who seemed to be thinking the same thing. Both glanced at me with loyalty that I found to be inspiring, as if asking for permission, and, feeling warmed by this for the first time instead of pinched, I nodded to them as imperceptibly as I could, sipping my glass.

"Welcome to Khoonda," the woman nearly whispered. "I'm administrator Terena Adare. I'm sorry it took me so long to reach you. The Mandalorians out in the fields caused our route to be diverted, I'm afraid, so it took us longer to reach you than I or any of my staff had anticipated."

I forced my mouth to speak, very aware that the little bitch Atton liked had eyes on me from every angle. I tried to ignore her, again, but the challenge was probably good for me because I felt like I was being tested.

I _always_ passed tests.

"Do not trouble yourself, administrator," my voice declared confidently, if quietly. "I hope the remainder of your journey was pleasant, albeit on a longer route than initially planned."

"Indeed, it was," the administrator acknowledged, smiling tiredly. "Dantooine is, in fact, beautiful this time of year, and I don't have as many opportunities to revel in its beauty as often as I'd like. I suppose the position does that to you."

"I know a thing or two about that, my lady," I agreed, smiling genuinely. "One's duties never seem to end, do they not?"

"Tell me, child, your accent," the woman commented. "Deralia?"

My heart pounded. I felt Atton's feeling spike in the Force, his towards anger and defense, where Bao Dur merely felt fear. I willed the two not to move forward in defense of me, knowing that any slip up of my identity would cause the bitch in the corner to hear. Surely, she'd spread my bad position all over Khoonda, and then nobody would want to help me find the master who was alleged to be here.

"It is," I finally replied formally. "Are you familiar with the planet, administrator?"

"I'm afraid not," the administrator stated quietly, "though it is a rare accent to hear after the devastation on the planet after the war."

Pain in my stomach that I hadn't experienced in a long time shifted from its resting place before settling back down again once more. Without needing to look, I felt Atton's senses spike again, surprisingly, out of pain. This surprised him.

I hadn't told him.

"I didn't know you lived there," Atton finally whispered to me through gritted teeth.

As if I'd be so open about everything. The unusual rage emerged again, and once more Kreia's harsh voice whispered in my head:

_Focus!_

"The Mandalorian Wars were tough for everyone," my mouth spoke automatically, refusing to glance back at Atton.

"But Deralia was razed to the ground," the woman averred sympathetically. "Such is not the case for many of the Outer Rim worlds, despite their devastation."

"War is hard," I agreed. "I only thank the creators that I wasn't on the planet when the devastation happened."

"But wounds like that stay with you, don't they, child?" the woman wondered rhetorically, nodding knowingly as she sipped her drink.

"They do," I agreed again. "Here, more so than others, it would seem."

The administrator's mouth formed a thin line now, a sympathy created between us. I felt the bond already forming between our two souls, not twisted as it sometimes used to be, recognizing it as we became connected in our shared grief of the worlds we'd all lost.

"So...Deralian," she continued after a while, "may I learn your name?"

I clenched my eyes shut tightly, hearing the young woman in the corner that belonged to Atton snicker.

"My name is Nune Ki'ili," I lied. "I apologize for not offering it sooner. Social niceties...don't come easily to me."

"Not at all, girl, not at all," the woman dismissed.

Her cunning eyes flashed now, and her real intentions came out.

"Are you the owner of the Ebon Hawk? The ship that just landed?"

I closed my eyes for an extended moment, and I heard Atton's indignation without even meaning to: _I told you we should have gotten those landing codes changed on Nar Shadaa!_ I'd ignored him, of course, fighting as we had been, and I regretted it now.

The ship had obviously been all over. It had been _his_ ship, and he'd come here after becoming...himself again. After his death-not-death. He'd even told me about it. His trip to Taris, his venture to find the woman named Bastila who was so opposite to me thinking about her made me wish to scream: perfect, creamy skin, unblemished by scars, despite her service record, straight, reddish hair, tall, with long legs and perfect form. A severe student and an even harsher, brash teacher for someone like Revan.

A foolish choice.

I would have been better.

Had I been allowed to communicate with him openly.

I always knew he'd catch up to me someday. I should have known it would happen here, so publicly.

I'd been so wrapped up in drowning myself in the Force that I could barely sleep anymore. And my dreams were riddled with sex and drugs, alcohol and gambling, places I'd never been, places in which I felt bizarrely out of my own body but still somehow at peace. I felt like I was losing myself, so I'd completely forgotten that Revan's old ship would raise some eyebrows.

However, her cut to the quick in such a way wore at my frayed nerves.

"Why do you ask, administrator?" I questioned shortly.

She peered at me for a moment.

"I'll take it as a given that the vessel is, indeed, yours. And our records indicate that that vessel has been on Dantooine before, during the war."

My heart began to race and my fingers twitched towards my lightsaber. I eyed the woman, hoping for sympathy, and she nodded to me.

With a flick of her finger, the few guards who'd remained in the vicinity left, and the door snapped closed behind them. To my chagrin, the woman, Atton's plaything, remained, who, at the response of a second flicking of the finger, came over to stand near the administrator. Atton's plaything moved over to the administator's simple desk, pressing a button. A whir faded and died and she stood tall to look at me anew.

"That was a Jedi vessel," she accused, her tone becoming stern for the first time.

My defenses were up immediately, but the harsh spike in her tone was not reflected in her spirit, which still seemed to emanate calm. I bit my lip and glanced back at Atton, who shook his head frantically at me. Sympathetically, I tilted my head at him, wishing I didn't have to oust myself so early.

"I'd prefer it if you kept that quiet, please," I finally told the woman.

Atton's plaything looked utterly disgusted, and the thinly veiled anger that she fostered for me was out in the open now.

"Administrator," the woman snapped. "She's a Jedi."

"So it would seem," the administrator replied. "But the truth is as it always has been - a lie." To me, she whispered, "A wise request, which I will honor, of course."

"But administrator -"

"Hush," the woman repudiated. "I still remember the old masters, and the help they lent to this planet, even if most in Khoonda choose not to. In fact," the woman continued, eyes glinting knowingly, "I still maintain...discreet...connections with Jedi. I suppose your arrival, then, is no coincidence?"

I scowled tiredly into the air, running my hands through my hair. This was the first time I'd admitted this truth to a stranger and not been harshly rejected, so the adrenaline let down of this caused my knees to shake.

"The Force must have brought me here," I murmured to the woman.

She agreed. In fact, on many things, we began to agree. Atton's plaything left, and for the first time, I hardly noticed her. Adare was fun to talk to, engaging, and she remembered me, if distantly. "That short little pistol," she said.

We left and I was feeling in high spirits.

Until Atton's plaything showed up again.

"The administrator gave you permission to enter the ruins," the woman accused.

We were in the foyer of the building now, and she was speaking loudly. I glanced around. There were enough people to notice, and I began to feel uncomfortable.

"Back off, woman, you don't know who you're messing with, okay?"

"I served in the Republic for a time," the woman snapped at me, her mouth twisting into a scowl. "I could take you - easily."

I waited for a brief moment. Waited for Atton to defend me, for Atton to step up and tell her to back off, but he didn't. In fact, rage brewed inside of him with her, as if the two were linked, and the thought sent me into a rage.

Consciously, I stepped past the woman, leaning forward as I did so. She stepped into my way again. I did not look at her, trying not to make a scene, but Atton's excess rage made everything I was normally so good at a lot harder.

"I don't want a fight," I told the woman calmly.

She shoved me, and I stumbled into Atton now, who caught me. I didn't look at him, and straightened up again, inhaling before exhaling. It took a reminder.

"I do!" she snapped.

"I don't want to fight you," I told her more pointedly this time.

"I don't care! You Jedi scum are so great...prove it, huh?"

"I don't need to prove it," I whispered to her cautiously.

Still, I waited for Atton to defend me. He did not.

"So you're a coward?"

This, more than anything, caused the rage to ignite inside of me.

"I cannot fight you, woman," I snapped at her now.

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because I'm trying not to hurt anybody," I snapped, "and I know I'd hurt you."

With that, Bao Dur and I stepped past her and over the threshold to the outside, leaving her and Atton behind.

I walked off quickly, this time in the direction of the plains. Vrook was this way, and he'd definitely not like to be kept waiting.

"At least we have permission to go find your old masters now, General," Bao Dur told me after an extended silence. "Don't worry about it too much."

"I'm not worried, I'm angry," I snapped. "This emotion sharing is...difficult...for me. I need to get a handle on it, and I can't seem to."

Bao Dur just pursed his lips.

"Wish I could help you there, General."

He extended a hand to touch me, and I smiled, feeling peace at the contact. Even if this emotion sharing was hard, it did work both ways. I was becoming connected to Bao Dur too, and our bond was strong and old, well used and reinforced by bonds of hardship.

His would solidify and bolster my weak and malnourished willpower. At least, going home to the Enclave for the first time in many years, that was better than nothing.


	31. Chapter 31

The Disciple made me angry. Everything from his air and manner of speaking to the way he was dressed and the things his eyes spoke without speaking. He _bowed_ when he first greeted me, and I'd stepped back, nearly snarling with suspicion, doubtful that there were any good people left in the galaxy, especially on this planet. I replied as snarkily as I could,

"What a polite bow. You must be a _gentleman_."

Things didn't improve from there.

He spoke as if he knew me, as if he knew about the Order. He spoke as if he and I shared a similar assumed truth that the galaxy was a fundamentally good and benevolent place, that there were people in it and there were forces working around it that made the galaxy turn as it ought to.

He and I did _not_ share this truth. He and I could not be further from the same mind.

I didn't hate everything and everyone. Not all the time. But I'd long since abandoned the notion that the Jedi teachings were altogether wholesome in their endeavor to drown out the darkness. Doing so was naive and foolish, manipulative and borderline idiotic. Darkness, whether a Jedi chose to accept it, would always be there. Ignoring it didn't make the darkness go away, and it certainly didn't help anybody.

That was probably why, reluctantly, I struggled through a conversation with this admittedly handsome stranger, hoping against hope that he would shut up or fight. I was so _tired_ of having every person around me telling me what the Jedi were, how the Jedi _ought_ to be, how Jedi thought this or the Jedi represented that.

Jedi were warriors. Peacekeepers. Soldiers. Scholars, historians, scientists. Some of the best discoveries in galactic history had involved Jedi. They weren't just one thing. They were people, flawed, dogmatic and religious, stubborn and traditional. They weren't gods. They were a team of individuals struggling to hold in too much power, fighting for a flag that in the end burned just the same as any other symbol.

All flags burned eventually. It was just the way of the galaxy.

Even the Republic's.

To his credit at first, the Disciple, who refused almost blatantly to offer up a name, seemed to be skeptical of the Jedi teachings. Not that I gave a bantha's ass what he thought. But too soon the sarcastic remarks descended into the disrespectful. We were quite literally standing on the graves of my fallen brothers and sisters. That he dared to mock them in any capacity, even if he was simply voicing the things I thought out loud, was too great of a disrespect for me to bear.

_Just another intellectual who thinks they know us_, I thought grimly, resisting the urge to scowl at the man as he laid sarcastic quip after quip before my feet about the futility of the Jedi.

Finally, I'd had enough. My temper was short and I was tired. The ruins put me in the foulest mood I'd been in since being forced onto this little quest, and it was a mood I knew would snap if I let it.

So, I had to make sure the stupid man didn't get a rise out of me.

"That's it!" I snapped, stepping forward.

My steps were short, so crossing the threshold took some doing, but once it was done, I sneered up into his face. He, like Atton, was taller than me. He had blonde hair, disarmingly blue eyes, a pale complexion I'd always admired that contrasted sharply against my own kaffa shade, and a smirk that played out slightly meaner than Atton's ever had.

It lacked the understanding that lingered behind Atton's eyes.

"You think you know Jedi?" I snapped.

"I've studied them extensively," he replied, undeterred completely. "Have you?"

He raised his eyebrow, as if amused by my little outburst.

"I don't need to study them," I snapped back. "I was one of them."

"Awfully candid about that," he commented, smirking down at me.

"Don't look at me like that!" I shouted at him. "You're just some pompous intellectual from the Republic some bigwig decided they wanted to get rid of! Or maybe, better yet, you're a spy sent to check up on me, see if I'm really a _threat_!"

"Are you a threat to me?" he asked me, appearing unfazed.

I sneered at him.

"I'd never hurt you," I spat at him, turning my back on him again. "I wouldn't want to give you that satisfaction."

My eyes found Atton's for the briefest of moments. He was _loving_ this, but I wasn't sure why.

"You think it would satisfy me to fight you?" the Disciple queried, retracting with nearly manipulative sincerity.

"No," I shot back overly my shoulder, "because you wouldn't be alive to feel anything after that."

An enduring silence dripped through the air like the dust in the air, slow and deliberate, and it began to pool around us. I was feeling in a particularly foul mood, and I wasn't sure if it was the tattered remains of my childhood evident all around me or if Atton was just rubbing off on me again.

Realizing this, I flipped around.

"Forget it," I stated flatly back to the handsome man, glancing up into his eyes apologetically. "I'm being rude. I'm sorry."

Atton snorted from the entrance, clearly displeased. He mistook my drained unwillingness to fight for cowardice. It was cowardice. It was fatigue. This place was getting into my head, and I knew I had to do something about it to make sure it didn't.

"I didn't mean to upset you," the Disciple replied, that same sincerity so candid that I was still unsure as to whether or not he was mocking me or if he was just really that disconnected from social etiquette.

"I know..." I managed, now breathless. "I know. I'm just...we're looking for somebody. And it's hard for me to be in here."

"So you are looking for Jedi?"

My hand immediately flew to my waist, and I heard Atton's blaster twirl out of its holster from behind me.

"Who told you that?" Atton snapped.

The vicious anger in his voice frightened me per usual, even when he was allegedly supposed to be on my side. I always pretended like he'd never turn that anger on me.

I hoped he wouldn't.

Anxiously, I tried to swallow, shoving away my fears as I tried to glare Atton's question into the back of the Disciple's skull.

"The Republic is too!" he offered up hastily, raising his hands in supplication between us.

My eyes searched him, up and down.

"A one Master Vrook, yes?"

"He seems awfully knowledgeable, General," Bao-Dur murmured to the two of us. "Be careful."

"All I meant was that our goals seem to be compatible!" he cried out, raising his hands further. "If you'd have me, I'd like to join your side!"

Abruptly, my hand relaxed. I stood tall. That was _not_ what I'd been expecting, especially since I'd been less than civil to him in greeting.

"Why would you want to do that?" Atton drawled from behind me, clearly undeterred. "You've got nothing to offer us."

"I can fly starships."

"Sorry, pal," Atton replied, "Bae and I have pretty much got that shit locked down."

"I'm excellent with repairs," he offered again.

"I've been building hydro-converters since before you were probably born," Bao-Dur replied with the same challenging wit.

The Disciple now seemed to grind his teeth in frustration, but his eyes never left mine. Appealingly, he took a step forward.

That was when I saw it.

Something.

A flash, a glimpse of something. A memory of a memory, unfettered by PTSD, clawing forth, making itself known. I had few really clear memories from before the wars, and this was one of them.

I knew him.

I _knew_ him!

"Wait!" I cried, holding my hand up as the others began to snap at him again. "I know him."

Sidelong, I glanced between my two male friends. Bao-Dur complied immediately, shrugging with pursed lips, but Atton looked less than pleased.

"Are you _kidding_?" he snapped through ground teeth. "You must be imagining things! What are the chances you'd meet somebody _here_ of all places from your past!"

I glanced back the handsome blonde.

"Do I know you?" I asked him. "You look familiar."

The man smirked.

"Oh, I doubt it," he replied, "but I can assure you if you'd like to jog my memory, we can do no better than working on that task together, can we not?"

I clenched my jaw out of anger. He was forcing my hand.

"_Fine_," I snapped, "but the title 'Disciple' isn't going to work on my ship. Tell me your real name."

The man dipped his head in an obliging bow.

"As you wish. My name is Mical."

* * *

><p>I wasn't in my right mind. Something felt wrong here, disconnected. It almost felt as if I had been wandering through a dark pipe my whole life, interconnected and stable, and all of the sudden I found the place I'd started.<p>

And that origin had a huge hole blown through all of it.

That was kind of how it was, and it got to me. I thought I'd be okay. I knew how it was, after all. I'd seen it from the outside. I'd even brawled with the salvagers and fought the Mandalorians.

But being here, standing in it, going down into the depths of it, it got to me. In a way that was distinctly un-Jedi, it got to me. I felt like I was wandering through a haze, like the Force was cut off from my person. I was walking around in a daze, blind, and it was a bad thing.

That was probably why Mr. Pretty Lips had somehow finegled his way into joining our little party. It was also probably why one of those damn laigreks had sliced through my entire left shoulder blade.

It was near the end of the day, and I knew it would need first aid. That damn poison prevented the kolto from doing its job, and I felt the painkillers ebbing away as Atton and Mical, with combative repartee, decided it was best to see who could piss the longest every time I was within earshot.

Typical men, so involved with themselves that they didn't notice me. I'd just had one of the worst days of my entire year, and nobody even stopped to care.

Bao-Dur, just old enough to be above the kind of behavior the younger two were engaging in, simply turned his back on the two, the fire billowing above us as the night became intense and the perimeter we'd established ignited into the night air with a crisp humming of a lightsaber. He didn't move after that, and Atton and I had learned that, somehow, despite clear issues with the Wars and all they entailed, sleep never failed to reach Bao-Dur.

Lucky bastard.

Atton barely even noticed me in his fervor to prove how well he knew me, and it had become evident fairly early on that he was threatened by the Disciple. It was obvious why. Mical was attractive and smart. Despite his claims that he'd been living in the Enclave for many weeks, with a camp that looked as if it corroborated this fact, he looked clean and well shaved. He was the annoyingly, frustratingly perfect kind of soldier that people like Atton and I just couldn't help but to hate a little bit.

Mical, on the other hand, seemed to take painstakingly precise calculations in his argument style, clearly besting each time Atton got close to a victory with a win from behind. A manipulator, a politician to the last. It infuriated Atton, who only grew more incensed as the arguments grew in volume.

I sat up stiffly, off in my own corner, separate from the three males, offering to take first watch, which didn't surprise anybody. Atton even made fun of me for it, knowing that it was not because I wanted to but because I couldn't sleep that I wanted the shift.

Not this time.

This time some intense triage was in order. The men had all gone to sleep, and it was just me and my clothes now. The painkillers had worn off in earnest, and I had to fight tears every time I moved a muscle, the area clenching up in reaction to the awful poison those damned bugs sprayed all over the wound. These were the kind of tears that were long coming, and the kind you wanted somebody around you to see.

This had easily been the hardest day in all the days I'd been with Atton, and that was saying something. All I wanted to do was curl up and cry, but I knew that was out of the question. I had to mend my wounds first, and that was the worst of it: the tears fought with the pain, and neither helped the other. Instead, each exacerbated the other, causing my normally thick, well-armored resolve to crumble in the face of my issue.

I was hot. I was uncomfortable. The humidity here was intense, and the darkness alarming. We were tired because the proximity alarms kept going off, and our food supplies, while ample, consisted of all that we'd bought at the market on Dantooine: boring, flavorless garbage. No sweet things. On top of that, the poison was beginning to set in in earnest, and I felt mildly dizzy and a little nauseous.

Everything felt bad. Everything. Inside and out. Coated in the sticky substance of self-pity and despair.

Gingerly, I tried to remove my shirt, but I didn't get far. My arms wouldn't go above my rib cage, so removing it conventionally was out of the question. The armor I hadn't been wearing, tucked neatly away at the pit of my bag, seemed like an awfully appealing choice now, no matter what Kreia told me about "training."

_Screw you_, I snapped to her, knowing she could hear from her nice, comfortable bed in the air conditioned ship.

I expected a response, but, surprisingly, there was none. The air in the Enclave was thick, hazy, and I suspected the Force was too. It made me ache with it, and I tried once more to bring my hands up high enough to remove my clothing.

I couldn't.

_Imagine if Vrook could see me now_, I found myself thinking.

That was it.

That was what tore the veil. The motivator, the final grain of sand.

Tears came, vicious and sudden, demanding to be spilled, and I shook my head at myself, sniffling.

All this death, all these people, destroyed. All gone. And here I was, still here, walking over their corpses like that fact didn't even matter.

"No!" I whispered to myself in reprimand, desperate not to think these thoughts. "I have to just get this stupid thing off..."

My sniffles became more intense, and the tears didn't stop either. My feeble attempts to remove my own clothing just reminded me how helpless I was, and the culmination of that reality really burned me.

I stormed off towards the light of a side garden in the Enclave, beautiful in its time, a place we'd gone to relieve ourselves for the running water that still flowed, even after all this destruction.

But I didn't even notice. I tried more vehemently to remove my shirt, my movements becoming more jerky as my desperation latched on. I grunted now, helplessly, feeling tears begin to form now not just out of despair but also of pain.

"Nel," a voice murmured into the clearing, wide awake, concerned.

I jumped, crying out, whirling around to see Atton. The moonlight case beautiful shadows against his long nose on his face, and his eyes seemed alert as they peered over at me.

"What are you doing?" he asked me, his voice unusually grave.

"Nothing," I sniffled, turning my back on him again to resume my task. "Just go away!"

I heard him cautiously walk over to me. He liked to remove his shoes to sleep, always had, and his bare feet platted against the stones slowly with his steps.

"What? What do you want? To make fun of me? I'm upset! So what? Doesn't matter. You're too busy measuring the length of your -"

I twitched the wrong way and the pain was immense. I cried out in pain, recoiling into myself like a wounded animal.

I felt him stare, but he didn't say anything.

I'd expected him to say something. Anything.

"What are you _looking_ at?" I snapped back, louder, tears overtaking my voice.

He put a hand on my shoulder and I recoiled violently, crying out in pain.

"What happened to you?" he asked with that same, grave tone he never used to me.

Gently, he turned around my person, hunched now, to peer at my wound in the light of the moon, which shined particularly brilliantly tonight. He hissed immediately, and I felt his fingers squeeze around my shoulder.

"When did this happen?" he asked me finally, his voice wavering in a way I couldn't decipher.

"Earlier," I dismissed, trying to move away. "I don't know."

He wouldn't let me go. Whether he was half-asleep or just concerned for his own safety through me, I didn't know. But his grip on me only became tighter.

"And you didn't tell us?"

The thought hadn't even occurred to me. I stood a little taller, blinking.

"I didn't think of that," I admitted, feeling a pang of guilt in his voice.

Again, he didn't say anything, but his breathing became labored. In the Force, connected as we were, I felt his insides clench at this truth. Even with the slippery nature of his thoughts and the weight of the death in this place, the fact that I was so unaccustomed to being taken care of that I literally forgot to ask others clearly upset him.

"Let me help," he ground out, like it was a labor.

I recoiled now, turning around. My arms found my chest, as if my shirt was off already, and I was glad it was dark for the heat that rose in my cheeks.

"You just want to see me naked," I accused harshly through tears of despair. "I'm just...kind of having a meltdown. Could you leave me to it...please?"

He looked down at me now through those beautiful dark eyes, the moonlight illuminating the rich tones of his face, the perfect contours of his mouth. Tears formed more adamantly against my cheeks, spilling over my eyelids as I peered up at him openly, decidedly pointed about my need to cry.

His hand found mine.

"I can see you naked any time I want," he declared boldly, smiling at me gently.

Somehow, maybe at the flirtatious joke veiled in his attempt to comfort me, a giggle burst through my pain and despair, a light in the darkness.

"Is that so?" I sniffled, wiping my dripping nose with my hand.

"I just don't because...you know. I want to let you pretend you're not _completely_ infatuated with me. It's kind of fun to watch, actually."

Again, I snorted, far less attractively this time, and Atton's wide mouth broke into a giant smile, a real one, as laughter rose out of him too, gently and sleepily. The smile faded quickly though, as it always did, veiled and fleeting as his moods usually were, and the grave face was back in an instant.

"It looks like you need help," he told me.

Anxiously, I nodded, swallowing hard.

"Tell me what happened."

"Laigrek got me," I replied.

He turned me about again, and this time I felt his fingers linger on the torn fabric of my robes.

"I've never seen any Jedi powers that allows the user to literally dismember their limbs to reach the mid-back region."

Another giggle, more out of relief now.

"Okay, fine," I snapped with reluctant willingness. "But don't get too excited."

"Please, don't flatter yourself, princess."

But the joke wasn't mean-spirited.

Tentatively at first, Atton's fingers trailed up to my robes, which he carefully gathered in his hands before loosing them from their hooks, causing the billowing cape-like garment to gather at the floor around my bare feet.

The air around us was cool, and I hunched over, beginning to shiver.

"You cold?" he asked me.

"Mmhmm."

"Think that poison's getting to you," he replied with more urgency.

His fingers imitated this urgency, finding my neckline before flipping me this way and that.

"Here, try to just..."

He lifted my arms gently, but movement was limited now. I cried out in pain before mumbling,

"Atton...think the last of the kolto just left...feeling a little sleepy now."

"Talk about good timing, huh?" Atton quipped back, clearly unaffected.

He reached his hands back to my collar from behind and ripped. The tearing shot through the air and suddenly my shirt, too, was on the ground.

Even with my distress at being nearly naked, I brought my forearms up to my chest tightly.

But he didn't move. Not for a long moment.

"Atton?" I asked.

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

I heard him pad to the camp and pad back, and he put the medkit down beside us before gently urging me to sit in the grass of the garden. From there, he took my arms in his hands and laid me down, headfirst, into the soil.

"Okay?" he asked.

I grunted now, too tired to move.

"Gonna fall asleep?" he asked me.

I nodded stiffly.

"Alright then, princess," he whispered back to me. "When you wake up, we'll have you good as new."

Though, in my last, dwindling moments, I wasn't fooled by the cavalier attitude. Atton's hands were trembling with me in his grasp, and I knew I would most certainly not be better for the wear of it.


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's Note: Hey, guys. I know it's been a while. As in, more than 2 months. I get that. I'm sorry. Life is hard, you know? Hope this installment works. Feeling a bit caught on this particular fic right now. I know where I want to go, just not quite sure how to get there. Anyways, enjoy.**

* * *

><p>She was so damned beautiful that it wasn't even fair. It just wasn't fair.<p>

She was covered in bloody scars, not attractive. She snorted and cried all the time, also not attractive. And when someone cried, their nose got all drippy and their eyes puffed up and red. Just really big mood-killers. And yet, Neli's back, tended and cared for, was curved in a way that literally impossible not to stare at. She didn't have dimples, not quite. She wasn't conventionally skinny. She had large curves where there were to be curves, and her backside was glorious as it rose and fell to meet her legs.

The place where her back dipped in drew my eyes. I tried not to look at it, but, guiltily, I couldn't look away. I wanted her.

Badly, I wanted her.

Here I was, arguing with this damned asshole who just _decided _he should tag along with us, and I hadn't stopped to figure out how she felt or if she felt anything. Not that I cared.

But if I'd checked, I was sure she wouldn't have gotten bitten by a laigrek, which meant we'd have more kolto for later.

Pragmatic, to the last.

My eyes roved over her sleeping form again and again, and the wanting of touching her was amazing. I just wanted her in my hands. Funny, how that worked out, because part of me liked talking to her almost as much. I could rely on her, I thought, even though I knew that I shouldn't. I _could_ if I had the option, and in a lot of ways that were confusing to me, that was meaningful and moving.

I wanted her to go away. I wanted her to go away from my head somehow, and the want of that was becoming exhausting.

"Stop wanting me, Rand," she mumbled, her head down in the grass, her words almost comically muffled by her own head.

Or it would have been comical if she'd said something a little bit nicer.

"I don't want you," I lied with convincing dismissiveness. "Don't flatter yourself, princess."

"Good," she replied curtly, though they both knew she wasn't fooled. "Because if you knew me, you wouldn't want me."

"Who's to say I don't know you?" I replied coolly.

She made a skeptical noise.

"Please..." she spat.

Finally, she rolled her head to the side, her cheek to the grass, her arms on either side of her body that revealed just enough breast to be tantalizing, and she spoke directly to me.

"You don't know anything about me."

I noticed that her words were slurred.

I'd drugged her.

_Just like before_, an evil voice whispered inside of me that sounded awfully like Kreia's. _This is how it always starts._

And then I'd seduce them if they were beautiful. I had a thing for Twi'ileks for a time. Then, I had a Zabrak phase. For some reason, I tried to stay away from humans. It felt a little too personal, I used to think. Plus, humans were inherently more suspicious of others. Of all the Jedi I'd butchered, humans were almost always the smart ones. The ones who stayed aware the longest when I broke them. The ones who'd laugh the longest to taunt me, the ones who refused to buy into the game the longest once I'd had my way with them. There were exceptions, of course, but humans were the spitfires.

The worst part about it was that I'd seduce them - make them want it. And they _wanted_ it. Jedi were sexual firecrackers. No release. No want of release. A discouragement of release, even. That meant no sex, no booze, no drugs, and certainly no orgasms.

The thought dawned on me that Neli might never have had an orgasm, and suddenly an explosion of her face, taut with ecstasy, mouth half open, eyes shut tight, her insides shuddering around me, popped into my mind's eye. I'd be looking down at her, of course, pausing breathlessly, dripping in sweat, to take in the feeling of her first time, somehow both pleased and fascinated by the look on her face that I'd provoked in her.

Shuddering, I stood from the rock on which I sat, shaking my body to rid myself of the image. Not that it wasn't fascinating. It was. But she was right here - _right here - _in front of me, and that had to count for something. I didn't want to do anything I'd regret. I saw her lose her temper once, and I noticed she was gearing up to do so again. As injured as she was, and drugged too, I had no doubt that Neli could peel my skin off with her mind just because she felt like it.

Because she was one of _those _Jedis, the ones who made you shiver when they looked into your eyes.

The picture of her in the throes of passion flitted before my eyes again, and I groaned, tensing all of my fingers to capacity for as long as I could manage. I began to pace, squeezing and unsqueezing my fists, as if anxious.

On top of that, the fantasy made me feel itchy. Down. Sad.

_Angry_.

Maybe it was because I'd never really pictured myself with her before. Sure, I'd pictured her naked. Of course I had. She was a beautiful woman, and I hadn't had sex in a really, _really_ long time. Taking care of business just wasn't the same. I usually liked to picture her laying down someplace, arms tantalizing splayed over her head, her eyes beckoning me forward as if begging me to take her.

But the thought of the actual _act_ with her made me feel just...furious.

And I was _mad_ at her for it. My head, my dreams, my fantasies, and I felt rage that she was here and I was here and that we'd met now and this was how it was. In a bizarre, and fleeting, moment of clarity, regret steamed to the top of the ever-mounting despair that had taken me a long, long time ago, and I wondered what things might have been like if I wasn't such a bad man.

A dangerous, malignant wondering.

Because I _wanted_ those things. The sex, the partnership, the wanting. I wanted someone to rip me open and tear me apart inside and put me back together. I did. I really did.

But not her. Anybody but her. And not anybody who would uncover the most horrible, most dangerous, most shameful truth of my past. Somebody who would be okay with not knowing those things, who would be okay with not knowing me fully.

At the same time, I wanted somebody to know me like that. Somebody to loathe me, to punish me.

Not Neli. Not her.

_When did that happen?_ I wondered to myself, scowling inwardly.

Since when did her opinion _matter_? Since when did it matter if she knew me, if she saw me? Since when was there a desperation, no, a physical _need_, for her not to know what I'd done and who I'd done it to?

I hated this train of thought. Hated every second of it.

The thought of being with her sexually was impossible. I'd ruin it. Ruin her. Maybe not right away. Maybe not on purpose. But I'd ruin it. She'd find out, and I'd ruin it. And even if she didn't, I couldn't live with knowing the thing that I hid from her was so pivotal, so meaningful and significant, that eventually _I_ would be the one that left _her_.

I was a deserter. It was what I did. It was what I'd always done.

Because people were better than me, and just because I was totally mashed up inside didn't mean I couldn't appreciate a good thing when there was one.

She was a good thing, a sickening reminder of how the galaxy could be if it wanted to be.

I wasn't.

The reminder made me feel ill.

I was so mad at her.

So mad, in fact, that I decided to take advantage of this opportunity. What she didn't know wouldn't kill her. And I was feeling sexually charged and aggravated and frustrated. She owed me this little game, I thought.

I'd ask her these burning questions, push her limits. I needed her to just..._care_. Care like I did. I _wanted_ her to cry and to _hurt_ and to shout in anguish with the pain I felt right in those moments.

Because I sure as hell didn't want to care, and she'd made me care. And that was the most awful feeling in the world.

"Well, what secrets have you been keeping from me?" I asked, innocently enough, like I was humoring a small child.

She snorted - again, unattractively - but I found myself resisting a grin bitterly as my heart raced.

Apparently, Neli didn't feel like elaborating, as if the snort was answer enough.

Maybe it was.

"So you were in the Red Light district on Nar Shadaa?" I asked her.

"Before," she whispered. "But that's the Dark Times, and I don't like to talk about it."

"Why was it that way?"

"The bad men were chasing me," she replied.

Stiffly, she managed to reach up her right arm to itch her nose. I realized that her eyes were closed and I moved closer to her, sitting on my knees by her side, marveling at her near nakedness.

"Did they catch you?" I asked, not quite bringing myself to care.

I'd asked the question a hundred times, a thousand. She never gave me a straight answer.

"They kill the people they catch," she dismissed. "And I'm still here."

I was one of those bad men. I'd been on Nar Shadaa countless times, looking for the fugitives. I might have even caught her.

_No_, I dismissed, heart beating faster. _I'd remember_. _I'd definitely remember her_.

But, in a completely different light, suddenly the memories from that time just seemed so much blacker. As if I'd been sick, literally sick, with a disease that caused my eyes to see in shades of black and white, and all my actions were a result of that sickness.

How nice that would have been, to blame an illness. To chalk it up to some external force: bad parenting, manipulation, bullying, harassment.

I might not have even looked at her before because she was human and because I strayed from humans. She could have just been a meal ticket, a target.

For the first time ever, I felt so sad at the thought. So sad. Like Neli was a ghost of what might have been, the result of an untraveled path that could have been mine.

"I used to be fun there, for a little," she told me conspiratorially, almost wistfully.

"Not like now, right?"

Her eyes crunched up, and I could tell, under the influence of painkillers, that my words had wounded her.

"I used to laugh more," she told me. "You would have liked me."

A pinching in my stomach made me lean back, but I couldn't contradict her. The sensation was too permanent, and I wanted something fleeting.

"I wish you'd tell me something," Neli mumbled sadly, tears encroaching on her voice.

Panic set in, but I didn't know why.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything. I like you, and I want to know you."

My turn to snort.

"Trust me, princess, you wouldn't like me if you knew me."

"Well, how do you know?"

"Because..." I thought about it. "I don't know. You're...you. And I'm me. We're different classes of human. Different species."

"No," she giggled, apparently finding this funny. "We're the same."

A whooping in my stomach made me feel angry that she'd stoop so low.

"We are _not_ the same," I spat viciously. "Don't say that again."

"Fine," she replied, her mood soured by my tone immediately. "Then go away."

So I did.

* * *

><p>When Master Vrook stepped forward to reprimand me, I felt the rage boiling in me like a piston ready to blow. Maybe it was Atton, maybe it was the Enclave. Maybe it was because all of the people who had manipulated me into assisting them had garbage for souls.<p>

In any event, when he snapped at me that he was surprised by the look on my face, that he was shocked that it looked as if I wanted thanks, I felt a mixture of familiar humiliation and rage.

"Shut up!" I raged at him.

His mouth clipped shut promptly, and he narrowed his eyes at me in the dark.

"I see that little has changed in your time in exile, young one," he muttered, as if it served as an affirmation of my scumbaggery. "You are still the brash, foolish, disrespectful thing that you have always been."

"I am _not_ a thing!" I growled through gritted teeth.

He peered at me, as if perplexed.

"So full of rage," he whispered, as if pondering. "I wonder, is it your companions who influence you or was it you who influenced them?"

He glanced over shrewdly at Atton, whose gaze, I noticed at a glance, was averted.

"Tell me," Vrook continued, his tone no less severe, "what is it that you expected to accomplish here by murdering these bounty hunters? Have you learned nothing of consequences after all this time?"

"My whole life has been nothing _but_ consequences, _master_!" I spat irreverently, and I saw by the look in his eyes that, even with his inherent dislike of me, he was clearly surprised.

"What?" I spat. "Did you expect me to _thank_ you for that lesson you just tried to thrust on me? I am no longer a Jedi, and you will _not_ order me about as if I am a pawn that is looking to learn. I have learned _nothing_ from you, and it has been _spite_ that has kept me on the good, true path."

For the first time, he looked mildly sad.

"So you have turned from a path of light?" he questioned seriously.

"I have turned from the path of Jedi!" I breathed fiercely. "But that does not make me less of a warrior of light!"

Again, he just peered at me, his expression marbled and unreadable.

"The Exchange has allied themselves with the mercenaries," he explained. "I am sure we have...much to discuss. Most specifically as to why you are here."

He peered at me more sternly this time.

"If you wish to speak with me about whatever your task is, you should help Khoonda prepare for war."

He began to walk by me, but not before sneaking a last snub in.

"I know you're good at that," he snapped, and, primly, he walked right past me and into the darkness.

We all just stood there for a long time, breathing.

"Well, what a cheery guy," Atton joked.

It wasn't funny.

"No, Atton, I believe their confrontation was rather chilly, in fact," Mical cut in, his should-be pleasant voice deepening my shame.

Frustrated, I listened to them begin to bicker.

"Obviously, I was making a joke," Atton drawled, and I could just see him roll his eyes. "Or do they not have holorecords of sarcasm where you've studied?"

I couldn't take it anymore. I threw my blaster as hard as I could into the cavern, shrieking in rage. The two, mercifully, were finally silent.

Bao-Dur was at my side promptly.

"General, you must not listen to the words of bitter old men," he reassured me, placing a kind hand on my shoulder.

Tears burned in my eyes.

"Nothing I do will make it better," I lamented, struggling to breathe.

I became acutely aware of my chest heaving with the effort.

"All I want to do is make my crimes better, and they won't even let me. He won't even..."

I gestured wildly, but Bao-Dur took my hand.

"Hey..._hey_..."

He smiled at me softly, that encouraging admiration ever-present.

"Who are you making it better for? You? Or them? Or for all of us?"

I looked at him for a long moment, realizing that the question hit me hard. With a painstaking moment of clarity, I realized that I just didn't know anymore.


	33. Chapter 33

There were a lot of things to be said about desondency, but the quickest way to get around it, or so I thought, was to stay busy and to stay motivated. People used to motivate me. People, who were fundamentally flawed and broken, as crippled as they were, kept me going.

I'd have to do the same again, and, once back in Khoonda, I began to prepare the settlement for war if for nothing else than to keep it from drastically changing yet again.

It struck me as very strange that the place I'd once loathed for its peace was now what served primarily as its draw. The grass was tall and beautiful on Dantooine, the flowers vibrant and reactive to the intense heat of the sunlight against the cool breeze. I strode pensively through the grove just outside of Khoonda, thinking about how fickle it was that I'd once detested being in places as boring as this and now all I wanted to do was to get lost in the plains somewhere. Go beyond where the sensors were and just become lost.

For the first time since I'd woken up on Peragus, since I'd gone to find the infamous Ebon Hawk, actually, I felt the tug to run away. I stood at the furthest edge of the furthest hill on the furthest outcrop of domesticated land, right where the crops were beginning to grow again in season, and I was overwhelmed by the need of getting to a place that wasn't near anybody or anyone. I thought about it, really, in all explicit terms. Thought about abandoning Atton, abandoning Bao-Dur. I was confident, given my new and increasingly strong connection to the Force, that I would undoubtedly be able to hide again.

Hiding was easy.

From there, I could sit on the outside looking in through a very small, very dim window. That was legitimately okay with me. I could watch through the window as the galaxy burned, and it wouldn't matter because I'd be safe behind my boxed view of the world. And when they came to find me - "they" being whoever they happened to be - I would not run or hide but sit emptily and wait. There wasn't distress with this. There was contentment in knowing that, when I met my end, it would mean the end to a long and gruesome uphill battle. The thought of that rest made everything else so worth it.

But then, when I was tired of contemplating the horizon of Dantooine, tired of staring into the wild that tore me in two, I simply sat down, and my hands were taken up in the painfully familiar scratching of matted grass and dirt beneath my heaped, and yet stock still, figure. I noticed seed pods cropped up around me, little tips of plants poking up through the dirt demanding to be known. I was standing on the site of a battle. I wasn't too far from the Enclave, and I knew, at one point, that the ground here had been razed completely. Black char. Fire and death. And yet, here I was, feeling the culmination of all that wasn't sitting and waiting.

If every farmer who'd ever lived on Dantooine had decided to give up just because there wasn't any land to cultivate crops, everyone would have died. Farmers, simple people who wanted simple things. Strong-willed, tough, but not dimwitted. If they could do it, so too could I.

Feeling invigorated, I made my way back to the settlement, finding the site busy with activity. People were hustling, as if preparing for an imminent stage production rather than a battle, and the pace of it indicated panic and frustration. I felt the ebbing despair of these settlers, who I sensed feared they'd be uprooted once again if I failed. It tugged on my heartstrings, and it didn't make anything any easier. Atton was leaning against a pillar outside, almost pointedly doing nothing, as he scowled at passersby who dared to look at him inquisitively in hopes that it would stir action into him.

Fools.

Atton did what _Atton_ wanted, and that was all that really mattered to him. He was ultimately selfish, and, moody as I was, my tenuous dedication not to abandon him completely made me feel angry and sick to my stomach. I stormed by him, feeling frustrated with the world and my position, and I saw him move from his position to jog next to me.

"Hey, where've you been?" he asked. "Everyone's been looking for you. They were worried."

"No, they were not," I corrected, not looking at him.

I stomped forward, wishing that the galaxy was different somehow. That Atton was different. Somehow, his standing there, waiting for me to return, and all of a sudden that was obviously what he'd been doing, made me so angry. If I died, what would he do to honor me? How would he remember me? The girl with the nicest ass, the woman with the darkest skin, the Outer Rim Rat with the strangest accent. _If_ I mattered, and that was a huge and doubtful if, he'd probably drown out his sorrows with drugs and alcohol and seedy women.

Tears came into my eyes as I rounded a corner to enter the settlement, and still I did not look at him.

What a way to be honored, I thought.

What had the galaxy come to these days?

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked with what seemed to be sincere concern, a gentle hand yanking me back to the present.

With Atton, it was impossible to tell what was true and what was false, but it was a fool's task to try. So I wouldn't.

"Nothing is wrong," I told him pointedly, clearly through tears.

"Where'd you go?"

"I was running," I replied calmly.

Though, it was obvious by Atton's hesitation that we both heard the last word that I didn't speak out loud.

_Away. I was running away._

I felt Atton pause at this. Our connection through the Force was temporarily overwhelming, and I was almost stuck with drowning in it when I couldn't take it anymore.

"Look, why are you following me?"

But before Atton could answer, a man, dressed in Republic robes, ran up to us both.

"Oh, there you are! Come quickly! Some of the militia have been injured!"

"They were looking for you," Atton explained uncomfortably. "I told them I'd find you, but I couldn't."

I glanced between them both, feeling overwhelmed again.

"Why are you telling this to me?"

"You've told me before you were a healer," Atton mentioned. "These guys are just kids. Farmers."

The man who'd come in the robes to fetch us bolted off in the opposite direction, and I followed him quickly, feeling my heart begin to race. I hadn't treated anybody's injuries but my own in a very long time.

We turned a corner and entered a room full of blood and screaming. Almost without thinking, my hand flew to the nearest thing to latch onto, which happened to be Atton's fourth and fifth fingers. I clung to them, looking around, breathing deeply. I hadn't seen this in a long time.

"Jedi, what do we do?" somebody asked me, a faceless person off to the side.

The desperation there was frightening.

But, in a strange way, it made me feel powerful. Strong. I'd never felt that since the wars, and I wanted to hold onto it. Like I was supposed to, I stepped forward.

"What happened to these men?" I asked with authority.

And then there were answers. Plenty of them. Blood. Guts, even. There'd been a firefight and those mercenaries had clearly assaulted these boys. Again, farmers. Strong. Not dimwitted. But simple.

That's all this was. I had to be strong, and I had to simplify. I'd done it once as a girl. I could sure as hell do it again.

Because I'd have to.

* * *

><p>Zherron and Neli clearly didn't get along after she'd reported him to Adare, but there was little to be helped with that. They were working together against Azkul, and that was all that really mattered to them both, it seemed. It was almost nice to see them coming together against a common enemy. And Neli was really coming into her own. It was beautiful. Almost frightening, too. She wasn't this big, strong, special person. Well, she was, but I had to hide that I knew that, that I saw that, because if I didn't I would be exposed. Then, I'd have to go off myself somewhere, just get rid of me so the galaxy didn't have to tolerate me anymore.<p>

Neli really was General Hyrra, war hero, leader, military strategist, brilliant tactician. She thought of things that nobody else seemed to, not even Zherron. She healed the sick, she repaired doors, activated droids. Bao-Dur was running a mechanics team, at her suggestion, to outfit the farmer droids with military upgrades that the settlers purchased from the salvagers. Even that prissy Mical was helping out, stockpiling food stores and harvesting all crops to prevent any from being needlessly burned down. That, too, was Neli's idea.

Her attention to detail gave me chills when I thought about it too hard.

She was the real thing. The real deal. I hadn't seen it before. It hadn't been possible. But, like this was what she was _born_ to do. She was the military leader everybody talked about.

The Jedi that nobody remembered anymore.

Including me.

It made me feel uncomfortable and exasperated. It was like watching a priest proselytize a dead religion that everybody knew was false now.

We were sitting outside of the Khoonda, her and I. We shared a rare, precious moment of solitude, just me and her, and the silence that endured was unbearable. I rarely had so much I wished I could say that I would never be able to say. Usually, I didn't care much to say anything, and that was when I realized that I cared, which was infuriating. It was the four month anniversary of meeting her, not that I was counting, but to think that it had been only four months when it seemed like a life time was preposterous to me.

Everything about being where I was made me itch, but I was under the oppressive thumb of my terrible dictator, the old shrew, Kreia.

I was scowling into my drink when Neli finally said,

"If you keep your face long enough like that, it will stay that way."

A joke.

I glanced at her in surprise, and, reluctantly, a smirk played out on my face.

"Stay up all night practicing that line? It was absolutely precious."

"No, but the last few minutes I thought of it, and I thought you would appreciate it," she replied, undeterred.

She was in good spirits tonight.

_Good_...my brain thought, and something about the calm in her voice made me feel calm too.

"Well, thanks for thinking of me, princess," I drawled to her.

Then, I took a long swig of my flask. Corellian ale. The good stuff.

"But I guess I'm not that special. You seem to think of everyone."

I glanced at her, and her brow was furrowed now.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I guess the Jedi code is still alive and well. We're attracting an awful lot of attention."

She was silent for a moment.

"Do you want me not to help them?" she asked.

I huffed into my drink.

Truth was, I didn't know. But I sure as hell wasn't going to say that.

"Don't you think it's a little bit of overkill to stop and help out every other person in the galaxy that begs us for help?"

She thought about it.

Neli always thought about it. I loved that about her. She really wanted to answer questions.

"I think if someone suffers, we should help them if we're capable. And we are, aren't we?"

"I wouldn't say we're in much of a position to do anything," I replied seriously. "We've got Sith on our tail. Can they say the same?"

"But it isn't a race," she said back to me.

Her language barrier came in a little, and I fought a smirk.

"It isn't a competition, you mean?"

"Yes," she said to me seriously, "I think if someone can be helped, we should. You don't think so?"

"But what _I'm _saying is that it isn't that we shouldn't help people, it's just that we need more help than they ever would."

Neli narrowed her eyes at me, as if deep in thought.

"But how do you judge this?" she asked. "Someone who stubs their toe might have pain and someone who is shot in the back by a blaster will also have pain. Both must deal with pain, it's just varying degrees of it. Don't you think pain is relative?"

"No," was my reply, feeling a little exposed now. "No, I don't."

She waited for me to continue, so I did in a rush before I could talk myself out of it.

"Pain comes down to whoever feels it worst. Anyone else below that can shove it, for all I care. They don't have any right to be complaining to _us_ about _anything_. Like I said, _they_ don't have Sith dogging them, and _we_ do. Still, _they_ will be the ones who give away our position because _we_ are helping them. You see my hesitation..."

She smiled goodnaturedly at me.

"I disagree," she told me.

"Oh yeah?" I challenged, entertained by the this repartee. "And what is it that you think, princess?"

"I think..."

She thought some more.

"I think that we have a ship. A crew. We have food. Credits. We have your blaster, Bao-Dur's intelligence, Kreia's preachiness -" (I smiled at this.) "- and I think we have many fewer problems than most others right now. We are lucky."

"You didn't mention you in that cute little list you've got there," I mentioned.

She thought about it again, a new toothy smile breaking free.

"I am the label of the team!" she said, giggling like a young girl.

She looked years younger when she did that, and I smiled with her, feeling unfamiliar and warm and nice.

"The label, huh?" I asked. "Pretty damn hot label."

She giggled again. For the first time in all the time that I'd known her, she seemed pleased with this comment on her looks. Like the giving of some tension inside of me, I felt the need to laugh when I never laughed, from a place that never saw the light of day. Relief mixed with pride struck me, and I couldn't help it. I laughed.

Then, we both laughed.

And it was stupid and silly and neither of us knew why, but the laughter was healing and glorious.

"I must have drank a lot more than I thought!" I said breathlessly, trying to reel it in.

It almost felt _too_ good.

"Maybe I can try some, and we can see," she said.

We both paused at this. I just stared at her.

"I thought you didn't drink," I asked cautiously.

"I don't, but maybe I'll try it. If you let me."

Shrugging, curious, I handed her the drink, and she sniffed it. Then, she recoiled.

"Ugh!" she cried.

I laughed a little again.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Corellian ale," I corrected her. "And that stuff is expensive, so enjoy it!"

Without hesitating, she dipped her head back and took a swig.

The next moment, she was coughing and spluttering, and I couldn't help but laugh again.

"That's disgusting!" she cried, handing me back the flask. "You keep it!"

"I will, thank you very much!"

And we laughed again.

And for a moment, just a moment, there was peace between us. No suspicions, no fears, just us together, laughing before the evening of the storm. And even though I wasn't sure I agreed with everything she said or did all the time, thinking about the fact that she preached forgiveness and helpfulness and compassion, it gave me hope for myself. A dangerous hope that I hadn't felt in a long, long time.

A fool's hope, perhaps.

But nobody had ever accused me of being wise.


End file.
